


A Liar's Game

by thanatopis



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6397639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night that was supposed to be no-strings-attached turns into something more for both Jason Todd and Dick Grayson: two secret agents, working for rival agencies, unknown by the both of them. Years later, and their civilian personas Dylan Thomas and Adam Garland are happily engaged...or are they?</p><p>Just goes to show, things are not always as they seem. Both men better watch their backs, because the enemy is closer than they think.</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a liar's beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god, what did I get myself into. Enjoy this first chapter peeps. Comments mean the world :)
> 
> EDIT: As of 7/28/17 this fic has been discontinued. Thank you for the support throughout, but as of the latest chapter, I don't have the energy or time for this story.

Jason sighed for the umpteenth time as he glared down into the watered-down, coke colored whisky he was cradling. Looking down into its depths as if it held all the answers of life’s unexplained little mysteries.

People at the bar wisely steered clear of him.

Jason was the stark, lone figure sitting in the ritzy, high-end bar all by himself, located in the back of lobby of the five-star hotel Jason was currently developing a severe case of ‘cabin fever’ in. His whole demeanor was broody and unapproachable, like a dark gray storm cloud constantly hovering over Jason’s being, threatening lightning bolts at any poor sucker that ventured too close. He counted on that cloud to discourage people from coming up to him and starting bland conversations Jason could give less of a shit about, but it always seemed to do the opposite of what Jason wanted it to.

People instead found him _alluring_. Apparently, there was something “mysterious” about his dark and gritty exterior that attracted people like flies on elephant shit. It was a rightly assumed assumption so Jason wasn’t confounded too much by it.

Jason had secrets— _oh god_ did he—coming out the goddamn ear, much to his own ire.

Jason could feel the bartender’s gaze moving over his face, no doubt trying to figure out his story as the scraggily kid who looked too young to be serving alcohol went back and forth between tending to customers and making too-expensive drinks. No matter where the kid was, those eyes always seemed to be on him.

In his line of work, being stared at with such an intensity usually meant guns would be popping off soon. It was making Jason a little bit anxious to be honest. His leg started to obnoxiously bounce in response. Drawing unnecessary attention to oneself was something to be greatly avoided in Jason’s line of work, it was an instinctual response to be highly aware of when eyes were on you, threat or not. It was something they beat into you as novices until you would never forget how to do it.

The nervous bounce of his leg was a bad habit, one he extinguished by sliding his hand over his knee and thumbing calmly over his kneecap. 

“Rough night?” An accented, boyish voiced asked him jovially. It was the bartender.

Jason wanted to roll his eyes, maybe tell the kid that he wasn’t his type or interested and move on with his night, but he didn’t for some odd reason. The liquor loosened him up and that’s why Jason usually tried not to drink, because being loosey-goosey on the job could get you killed.

Jason barked a laugh, whirling the amber liquid in the crystal cup before downing it one gulp. Felt nice going down, Jason barely even felt the burn. He set the glass down with a satisfied thump and gestured for another.

“You could say that,” Jason said, eyes going sideways, subtly checking the room out of habit, making sure his exits where open and available in case he needed to use them.

Jason was stuck in this god forsaken city until further notice, so it wasn’t like he could run too far.

Everything was too hot from the last hit and extraction wasn’t a safe guaranteed thing. There had been a… _complication_ of sorts with the ‘hit’ that should’ve been easier than pick-pocketing a drunken tourist, but no, another agency had interfered and fucked with Jason’s assassination attempt.

He scowled thinking about it.

Jason had gotten the job done of course—he had a reputation to uphold for pete’s sake.

Out-and-easy in under a two minutes, nothing more, but it hadn’t gone down like that. The crafty fuck—whoever they were from the other agency, probably either CIA, MI-6, or those German fucks—had somehow known Jason would be in that abandoned warehouse building miles away from the kill-zone, waiting. This person had rigged up explosives to the supportive beams of the building’s internal structure that Jason hadn’t checked for when he had set up shop.

A stupid mistake that almost got his goddamn head blown off, but still managed to detonate the correct car in the convoy that was three black SUV’s long.

Jack Drake’s safeguards weren’t shit, that was for sure.

They could learn a thing or two about discrete transportation, like the fact that black SUV’s were like beacons that shined and blinked ‘important person in here’ just waiting to be blown up.

So yeah, in all honestly, it _had_ been a long fucking day.

And now Jason was going to get drunk on a job well done because he deserved it. Maybe order room service and see what kind of movies they had on paper-view, and then go the fuck to sleep until someone called him about pick up.

But of course, it didn’t happen like that.

* * *

Dick was restless. No better word for it.

He shifted this way and that in the queen sized bed that felt too small for just one man, huffing and puffing when he couldn’t find a spot that felt comfortable enough to close his eyes and give into a much needed deep sleep. Dick promptly gave up on that attempt as he rolled over on his back with a tired sigh and stared at the off-white painted ceiling.

His body felt tired but his mind wasn’t having it. There was all this pent up energy and left over adrenaline Dick had from the mission that he didn’t know what to do with.

Well…that was a lie.

His body was thrumming knowingly, wanting either a good fight or a good fuck—didn’t matter which—but neither options were available sadly.

Maybe he’d go for a run? A swim?

He had to do something until he got the called confirming that Tim Drake was still alive and had successfully been moved to a safe-house until further notice.

Dick thought about the lanky, keen eyed teen, already caught up and dealing with things a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have to deal with under any circumstance. Dick had to remember however that Timothy Drake wasn’t a normal fifteen-year-old boy, he was a genius, something Dick had deduced after speaking with the kid after ten seconds. Tim’s broad knowledge also included information concerning the shady business dealings his father had been involved in, which only made Tim a very valuable target to several different government agencies.

Jack Drake was a nuclear fusions expert, being a chemist and engineer both—the guy could probably make a bomb out of a straw, bleach, and baking soda given enough time.

Before his untimely demise, Jack Drake was the man that could find anyone the materials and sketch out blue prints on how to make a nuclear bomb, all of course with a pretty price tag attached that funded his lavish lifestyle and the exorbitant overseas boarding school he sent Tim to.

With Jack Drake recently becoming a pile of chard bits, his only son had become quite popular unfortunately. The fact that his mother was nowhere to be found was concerning as well. Janet was definitely the Drake that Dick was most uneasy about.

Like clockwork, his burner phone rang. Some dinky little thing he quickly grabbed in a hurry in some gift shop after he’d landed. It never failed to impress him how they always managed to call him after he set the damn thing up.

Dick picked up the phone and rattled off in practiced, dull monotone, “38D-04U-1940BW. Richard John Grayson.” There was a long beep, then a pause until a cool voice spoke.

“Timothy Drake has successfully been relocated to the undisclosed safe-house location. Your orders are as followed...”

Dick mechanically listen as he was told to be at the airport before 8:00 to catch a flight to London and await further orders, and then the line went dead.

Dick sighed, relieved as he got up from bed and went to the bathroom, grabbing the metal ice bucket and the lighter sitting right next to it as he went. He threw the burner phone in the tin and looked through the cabinets for anything flammable. Like he had hoped, there was an aerosol can sitting in the back corner and Dick grinned as he grabbed for it.

He shook the can experimentally, checking to see how much juice it still had and was pleased by how heavy it felt in his hand. This was the most amusing way on how to dispose of a burner, just needed to remember not to tilt the can towards the shower curtain. Dick didn’t want to have to explain how he managed to set the fancy fabric on fire, he’d learned that the hard way the other time.

When the phone was nothing more than a melted block of bubbling, bad smelling putty, Dick put some water over it and promptly forgot about it.

His job was done and that called for celebration.

Dick hopped in the shower, singing Nicki Minaj off-key all the while.

* * *

Jason had been convinced that a vodka-cranberry with a pretty lil’ lime on the lip would’ve been his last drink at the bar if it hadn’t been for the man that slipped in easily beside him.

The man cut through Jason’s dark and gritty drinking party like a hot knife on butter, changing the whole atmosphere right on impact. Jason tried not to stare—keyword: _tried_.

The guy was fucking gorgeous, like some sort of Calvin Klein gorgeous, honestly it was pissing Jason off how fucking hot he was because no one had the right to look that good.

“What’re you having?” The man asked in alluring, confident tones.

Jason turned his head and when those baby blues met his, Jason swore the little hitch in his chest had nothing to do with that bright, beaming smile directed right at him. The ease of it, the sexy little curve of his lower lip as two perfect rows of straight teeth graced Jason and he found quickly that he wanted this man.

Jason’s own eyes lowered as he took a slow slip of said drink, taking his time and assessing. Jason wondered how quick he could get tall, dark, and utterly fuckable into his hotel room—a nice little distraction for his current sucky predicament. How the guy was looking at him…eyes twinkling with a veneer of mischief right under the surface, he looked like he was wanting some late-night company as well.

Perfect then, Jason thought with an amused twitch of his lip. Let’s skip this foreplay shit, gorgeous.

“So, do you wanna know my name now or later?” Jason said, deep and low, leaning forward slightly as he traced the sharp point of the bar’s edge with his index finger, deliberately slow and in plain view.

“Honestly, I’d prefer now, so you’ll know what you’ll be screaming later on.”

Jason shivered at the breathy little laugh that ushered out of the man’s mouth, charming and light, eyes modestly shifting downwards before shyly raising and meeting Jason’s head on, tempting him and daring him all at the same time.

God, his eyes…

The stranger tilted his head, “Not that I’m not interested, but does that usually work or…?”

Jason snorted a laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand.

Okay, yeah…he was lame. He had to get points for trying though.

“The name’s Adam by the way, just so _you_ know.” Adam said silkily, plucking Jason’s drink from the coaster it was resting on, keeping constant eye contact with Jason as he took a sip. Anyone else and Jason thought he might have been a little bit ticked by the sure brazenness of the action, but he could only watch in fascination, slightly jealous of his own goddamn drink because of the lips that it touched.

Jason hummed, pleased to have his own words thrown back at him in such a way.

“Dylan,” Jason easily recited the fake name with smooth confidence. “Adam, huh? So very ‘boy-next-door’ and speaking of, what’re you doing so far away from home? You’re American too, right?”

Jason would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested. Not that it wasn’t completely uncommon to see an American in this part of the world, it was just rare.

Adam laughed like it was a funny story, raking his hand through his black inky hair in a move that made Jason’s mouth go dry.

“I just graduated from school, so I’m treating myself. Back-packing here and there, seeing the sights, eating the food, meeting interesting people…”

He intentionally drifted off and licked his lips, and Jason’s eyes openly followed the motion, mimicking it.

“You know, the usual. How about you?”

“I make bikes and sell them.” Jason shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I had the final meeting with a customer yesterday and finally closed the deal—thank fuck. Now I just gotta get back home and make the damn thing.” Jason paused, taking a sip of his drink, right where Adam’s lips had rested against it, eyes hot over the rim of the glass.

Jason savored the taste, “But I thought I’d stay for an extra day—you know, see what fun I could get myself into.”

Adam bit his lip, grinning knowingly. This game they were playing with each other was all pretense and leading to the inevitable, but that didn’t make it any less fun.

“Well I’m pretty fun, but I guess that depends on your definition of the word.”

Jason grinned back, hand cradling his chin as he rested his arm on the mahogany wood. This was probably a bad idea, sleeping with a civilian while still on a mission, but there was just something about Adam that made Jason take pause, and it wasn’t just his model worthy looks, though that _very_ much helped.

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’re the life of the party.”

Adam hummed, gesturing to the bartender who looked a bit putout when he walked over. He didn’t ask if Jason wanted anything. “Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

Twenty minutes later and Jason found himself pushed and pinned to the very back of the golden padded elevator that thankfully held no one in it. He allowed Adam take control and kiss him breathless for a time. Jason got twitchy when he was pinned for too long, like his skin was too tight for his body, threatening to crack. Jason pushed off the wall and grabbed a fist full of that hair he’d wanted to card his fingers through since the first time Adam brushed his hair back, and pulled to angle Adam’s head to better receive his kiss.

They broke apart with a gasp when air was needed.

“What floor are you on?” Adam asked breathy, kissing across Jason’s jawline, down his neck, and hurriedly unbuttoning his dress shirt when the material got in the way. “Or we can go to mine. I don’t care. Just want you.”

Jason chuckled, both flattered and smug by Adam’s passion and intensity, how his hands danced all over Jason’s body.

“Yours.” Jason said and kissed him again, slower and sweeter, tongue rubbing sinfully against Adam’s and his dick twitched at the throaty groan the action got.

The bed was still unmade when the both of them tumbled on it, something Jason would’ve scoffed at distastefully if he hadn’t had been so turned on. They broke apart long enough to take their clothes off, both laughing at each other softly when clothes didn’t come off as easily as they hoped. Jason kissed down Adam’s chest, tracing the tips of his fingers up and down his sides, delighting when the feather light touch made Adam twitch and jump, fisting the sheets.

God, the things Jason wanted to do to this man…

He had to be _careful_.

He didn’t bite into the inside Adam’s thigh like he wanted too, didn’t get his nails into his hips and drag them over his skin like he wanted too, didn’t pound him into the mattress like he _so greatly_ wanted too, because he needed to be careful.

Jason repeated the mantra over and over inside his head: _Careful, careful, careful…_

Distracted with his thoughts, Adam managed to roll them over in a flurry of glorious movement and lithe power that originated from his hips as he rocked down on Jason’s cock, hands circling over Jason’s shoulders for balance and leverage. Jason struggled to keep his eyes open instead of having them roll into the back of his head like his instincts wanted him too.

Adam was simply… _radiant_. He was riding Jason enthusiastically, throwing his head back and smiling up at the ceiling, showing how much he enjoyed the act of having sex and not hiding how much he was loving it, so confident and unbelievably sexy that it took his very breath away.

Bright blue eyes looked down at Jason when he groaned, low and loud, clutching at Adam’s hips like a lifeline keeping him afloat. Adam leaned back, anchoring his hands on Jason’s thighs and the ripple of movement that was the muscles in his abdomen was as smooth as river water, and Jason stared, transfixed.

“You seemed distracted there for a second,” Adam panted, his smile crooked. “Thought I’d bring you back into the present. You know, the one where I’m riding your huge cock.”

Jason grit his teeth, grinding the back of his head into the pillow _hard_.

“ _Jesus Christ_.”

This man was like a wet dream come to life and Jason was helpless to him.

Adam laughed breathlessly, easing himself up the entire length of Jason’s cock in a slow circling of his hips before he started bouncing on it, fucking little noises out of himself that made Jason burn because he wasn’t trying to muffle them, wasn’t shy in the slightest. Adam was so open and honest about his pleasure, something Jason appreciated and found incredibly charming because he threw himself so wholly into it without shame.

“Hmm, the name’s Adam, but nice try.”

Adam was panting loudly now, keening when he hit that particular spot that had him trembling and shuttering, thrusts faltering.

Jason managed to unclench his hand from Adam’s hip, circling his hand eagerly around Adam’s thick cock. He was stiff, hot, and deliciously wet in Jason’s sure grip as he started stroking in fast, hurried motions. Jason watched his face with rapt attention, fascinated by the changing expressions of bliss on Adam’s face, how he crumbled with the overwhelming pleasure and then gave into it. He came in Jason’s hand, flooding the top of Jason’s fist with a shout as his body convulsed, hips twitching in half stunted motions as he came in spurts.

Adam’s eyes were closed, head raised in euphoria and Jason felt his breath leave him like a punch in the gut, stealing all his air because he had never seen something as beautiful than this man coming for him.

“ _Dylan_ ,” And _that_ made Jason jerk.

He’d somehow managed to forget about missions and secret covers, which wasn’t smart at all, but for this, it almost seemed worth it. Jason clenched his teeth, groaning low in his throat as he finally came, lights shining behind his lids.

He felt Adam collapse next to him, chest heaving, hair damp with his sweat, clinging to his forehead and Jason turned to look at him, smiling when he found Adam looking right back.

Jason huffed, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat, “Would it be presumptuous of me to want to do this again, you know…in the future?”

Those baby blues were bright with promise, “Like getting dinner? Maybe a movie afterwards? Hope you like rom-coms, don’t think we can be friends if you don’t like rom-coms.”

Jason snorted loudly, throwing his arm around Adam’s waist, thumb leisurely caressing his side. The texture of his skin was different there, Jason vaguely noted, but didn’t pay it much mind.

Jason’s brow rose amused. “Rom-coms? Goodness gracious, you _un-ironically_ like rom-coms. Shoulda’ figured, you look like you’d star in one with that pretty boy face of yours, though, I think I can get passed it.” Jason grinned devilish as he shifted closer, kissing Adam nice and slow, savoring his taste and feel of his mouth. And what a mouth it was, good lord.

Adam huffed a breathy laugh between them, flicking his tongue along Jason’s lower lip before he caught it with his teeth and pulled.

“Oh yeah?”

Jason’s dick twitched despite him being more than spent.

 “Yeah,” He said before he pulled away, settling onto his back with his arms behind his head, looking utterly content and satisfied, and actually feeling it too. Jason tried not to analyze how it was the first time in a long time, all because of this one random guy no less.

They talked until they couldn’t keep their eyes open, learning about each other, trading stories and experiences. Jason rattled off the fake façade that was his life, practiced and impassionate. Dylan Thomas had a fairly boring upbringing and life—well, by Jason’s own standards. Jason told stories about his fake father and their trips to the beaches in Florida during the summers, about his fake mother and how she died from cancer when he was just a kid, how challenging it had been growing up without her, which wasn’t as much of a lie as Jason wanted it to be.

It was the closest truth Adam, or anyone for that matter, was ever going to get and while Jason found it trivial, Adam listened with rapt attention, laughing in some spots, asking questions in others.

When Jason asked about him—his story, Adam shrugged and said there wasn’t much to tell. He was adopted, rich father, no wife, no siblings, it was a lonely life. Jason understood and respected that Adam didn’t want to talk about it, not pressing for more.

He yawned suddenly, the power of it surprised him, but then it didn’t. Jason looked over at the clock and was astonished to see that it was already two in the morning.

“I guess we should get to bed—for real this time.” Adam joked, his yawn following right after. Jason grinned, pulling Adam closer towards his chest, their legs tangling and Adam snuggled against his chest, his arm a pleasant weight across Jason’s waist.

“Wake me up when you have to leave?” Adam asked, voice light and groggy, already slipping into sleep.

Jason smoothed a hand over his back, mouth pinched in consideration where Adam couldn’t see it.

“Yeah.”

In the end, Jason didn’t.

He left two hours later, simply unable to sleep. Insomnia had always been a thing with him even as a child. Jason took medication for it…sometimes.

Jason untangled himself bit by bit from Adam, holding his breath whenever the man mumbled and reached for him.

Figuring out which clothes were his proved to be a challenge as well.

Adam was…messy. His clothes, along with Jason’s littered the floor and in the dark it was near impossible to tell which clothes where his and which ones weren’t. They were practically the same size too. Jason managed to find his pants and a shirt that seemed to fit him good enough but definitely wasn’t his. His jacket hung from the lamp and Jason snorted softly when he grabbed for it.

Stepping into his loafers, Jason turned back around taking an indulgent moment to stare at Adam who was sleeping soundlessly. He had shifted to Jason’s side of the bed sometime during and a twinge of something unidentifiable ached in Jason’s chest.

He ignored it easily and made for the door, slipping back into mission mode like how a person might shrug on a winter coat.

* * *

Dick woke to the hotel phone’s loud obnoxious ringing.

Startled, Dick rose on his elbows, disoriented until he was finally fully awake. He noticed sadly that Dylan hadn’t woke him and mostly likely wasn’t in the bathroom taking a shower from how the light was still out in the room.

He sighed, mourning the loss because last night had been…well, it had been really nice considering all the stress and hair pulling Dick had gone through previous days before. He had hoped Dylan would’ve at least left a note, which looking around, Dick didn’t see anywhere.

Dick frowned, reaching for the phone with sore muscles, the ache set deep.

“Hello?”

“Adam Garland, this is your 7:00 am wake up call.” Recited the pleasant, softly accented voice almost made for calls like these no doubt.

“Thank you—”

“Also sir, I was told to give you this number. A man named Dylan Thomas?”

Dick paused from rubbing at his tired eyes, every muscle in his body stilled before he smiled.

“Yeah, hold on. Let me get a pen.”


	2. a liar's charade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to inform you all that getting chapters out this quick is not my usual norm. i'm currently on spring break and most of this chapter was already typed out, so that's the reason why. anyways, any errors are my own. i don't mind being told if i've made a mistake somewhere so if i have, please tell me.
> 
> hope you enjoy! a bit of time has passed since this chapter and the first... 
> 
> comments are always awesome :)

Dick mindlessly twirled the band located on his ring finger.

He lazily traced over the textured white-gold stripe that ran right down the ring’s middle, all the while admiring the piece of jewelry on his hand with a solemn kind of fondness that surged within him. Anyone who knew Dick recognized the action as his way of passively showing his frustration. He’d been doing it for the last twenty minutes, only to take his ring off and set it on the table top when his skin started chaffing.

Dylan was late. _Again_.

Not that it was much of a surprise, really.

Dick’s back molars ground together until the pressure began to hurt. He ran an aspirated hand over his mouth as if hoping to smooth out the severe lines the lower half of his face was currently locked in. Dick was usually the one who teased Dylan about his perpetual frown and how he needed to turn it upside down, but it was hard taking his own advice this time.

Dick sighed, shuffling his feet under the table in a restless gesture. His legs wanted him to get up and pace a meter-deep hole into the dining room floor, but Dick resisted the tempting urge. He carded tense fingers through his hair, newly cut, layered and quaffed, and incredibly soft against his skin. A change Dick thought Dylan would’ve appreciated, especially with how in the past, Dylan’s comments about how long his hair was becoming had become more and more frequent in the weeks that had passed. Dick had even gone _shopping_ this afternoon after work, something he absolutely _hated_ doing, for _Dylan_ , his no-show fiancée.

The sky blue dress shirt he’d bought at the way-to-expensive department store fit Dick perfectly and complimented his fair features. The sleeves hugged Dick’s biceps instead of pinching at them, and the shirt was also a color Dylan was incredibly fond of when it came in association with Dick. Not that Dylan ever said so or anything, Dick just knew.  

Dick looked out solemnly over the dressed dinner table, the candles messily dripping wax, and the food that Dick tried to cook, keyword: tried, sat untouched, quickly loosing heat. He hadn’t touched his, appetite suddenly shot for the night.

He shuffled the peas around his plate with his fork, looking forlorn, wondering why he even tried in the first place. Dylan always gave him shit about his cooking anyways, so why did he even bother with this?

 _Because Adam would_ , a quiet voice said.

The house was empty— _desolate_ —without Dylan in it. It was lonely without Dylan to fill the void with his broad shoulders and his heavy gait, without his witty humor and sarcastic comebacks.

God, where was he anyways?

Dick checked his watch, a birthday gift Dylan had given Adam two years ago when things had been good between them. Their relationship hadn’t been perfect in the slightest, but Dick could remember being genuinely happy with Dylan back then. Now-a-days it just seemed…more like they stayed together just because they were familiar with each other’s own kind of crazy, and it was too much of a hassle to start over again.

It was exhausting and it made Dick irrationally sad, the fact that they were drifting apart and he could do nothing to stop it. He shouldn’t have cared in the first place; Dylan was a cover, a useful one that eased suspicion, but Dick’s unrealistic expectation to feel nothing for the man after years of dating and then eventual engagement had been severely underestimated.

The simple truth was he and Dylan hadn’t had sex in months. They hadn’t really done _anything_ together if they could help it. Dick didn’t per-say regret his decision in staying in this arrangement—it worked especially well for his double-identity.

No one would ever expect Adam Garland, sweet-heart extraordinaire, soon-to-be-married man, accountant, and a home-owner living in the suburbs, to be a covert operations officer for an agency that worked in the darkest of shadows.

His feelings for Dylan were… _complicated_ at best. Dick genuinely liked the man and found him to be pleasant company, enough for his persona to go out with him multiple times, eventually enter an exclusive relationship, and then eventually agree to marry the man when Dylan popped the question. It was inevitable that parts of Dick and Adam would converge and blend together—it was something Dick tried not to do, but it was difficult.

Did Dick love Dylan?

He really didn’t know.

Sighing again for the umpteenth time in a single night, Dick shifted, working his phone from out of his pants pocket.

His brows furrowed when he saw the time: _7:45_.

Dylan should’ve been home by now.

The other man said he’d be home by six and Dylan would’ve called if something had come up, Dick liked to think. He would’ve sent a text at least…

Dick tried not to think about what would keep Dylan almost two hours past schedule, but his doubt and skepticism whispered oh so quietly inside his ear, cruelly insinuating his biggest insecurities: that Dylan had grown tired of him, had found someone else and touched that person like he, at one point in time, had touched Dick.

He shook his head, expelling the negative thoughts.

He didn’t like to dwell; it did nothing for him.

Dick tapped on the contacts list on his phone, strolling through until Dylan’s name and picture showed up.

In the picture, Dick had somehow miraculously managed to get Dylan to smile _and_ take a photo by telling him one of his corny jokes, it was one of his rare, genuine smiles that made him look years younger and absolutely radiant. Dick adored the photo of Dylan in mid-snort, frozen forever in a place of utter content. He had pleaded with Dylan to let him keep the shot after he had taken it, bribing the other man with soft kisses and cajoling words, and it had worked.

Dick smiled sadly as he hit the call icon, wondering if he’d ever get that feeling back.

* * *

He was late.

 _Two hours_ late and actively counting.

 _Fucking shit_.

Adam was going to murder his ass before the guy shooting blindly at Jason’s face ever did.

Gritting his teeth with conviction, Jason wondered if he had a mild death wish as he charged out from behind the desk he had taken cover under some moments ago. He ran with break neck speed towards the mammoth of a man that was shocked enough to stop trying to blow a hole through Jason’s head long enough for Jason to knock the gun out of his meaty grip.

The gun flew, skittering across the floor a few feet away. Jason didn’t give the guy a chance to lunge after it. He drew his arm back and slammed his fist hard enough into the guy’s nose for Jason to wince in pain. The man barely seemed disturbed by the impact, where lesser men would’ve been on the ground, flat on their back. The man ushered a small groan of a sound, blinking rapidly at the sting, eyes glossy. Jason hoped like heck he’d broken the guy’s nose.

Jason’s smile was a nasty sneer of a thing, blood staining his teeth from where he had bit into his cheek earlier.

“Fuck, you’re a tough motherfucker.” Jason said in perfect German. His accent was a little off though. Playing American for so long, Jason supposed he was losing his touch.

“Is there any chance we can reschedule?” Jason asked, his whole demeanor suddenly boyish and deceptively loose, like he was rehashing with a close friend instead of what was, most likely, a highly trained agent from the BND, or maybe a merc hired because of a grudge. The German looked less than impressed, even with surprised appearance of Jason’s multilingual tongue, so that meant he knew something or another about Jason.

He didn’t like that.

“I kinda have a hot date waiting for me back home, one I _really_ can’t miss.” Jason said. “You know how it is—or maybe you don’t, I mean…” Jason trailed off with a wince, giving a low whistle meant to demean as his eyes assessed the guy up and down with sympathetic falsity. Jason tried not to grin like a madman when mammoth fell for the provocation, actually _growling_ at Jason. Jesus, these guys were always so fucking _sensitive_.

Walking in careful circles around each other, the men sized each other up, cautious and acknowledging their respective strengths. Jason tried not to growl and bare his teeth himself. This Hulk-wannabe was holding him up—not to mention the reason why Jason shop was absolutely trashed. He would have to clean not only himself up after this grizzly exchange, but the garage too before he could go home, which would even take _more_ time.

_Shit._

It didn’t help Jason’s mood either that this uncouth fuck, who he suspected was the one who had been tailing him for the past two weeks, was also messing up the feng-shiu of his work place. 

 _The Auto Haus_ was Jason’s base of operations for his bike business, which over the years, had taken off much to Jason’s genuine surprise and delight. Jason’s passion for making bikes was one of the attributes about himself that wasn’t fake about his civilian persona, Dylan Thomas. He’d always loved bikes and cars as a kid, stole a couple of them too, right before great ‘ole mother Russia had found him out and slapped harshly at his wrist.

Growing up in the slums in Moscow had been rough—the toughest challenge Jason had ever faced in his life to-date. His childhood had consisted of dodging bullets from shoot-outs between traffickers and police that dared to go head-to-head with the _Solntsevskaya,_ trying not to get stabbed in the back for day’s old dinner roll, and watching his mother sustain her drug habit by selling her body, even when the scumbags who dealed to her started showing an interest in Jason’s…

There’s no doubt that joining the military had saved Jason’s life, but getting recruited into the FSB right after graduation gave him a _new_ one. It was hard, punishing, and morally ambiguous work being an agent. Not everyone could make the decisions Jason could, or do the things he could—Jason had been one of the best in training. _Street-smart, quick on his feet, strong, and violent_ , had been an instructor’s first assessment of nineteen years-old Jason Todd. Many of his peers during the novice days had washed out early on in the program, and if Jason wasn’t so naturally stubborn and bullheaded, he’s sure he would’ve too.

Jason’s eyes quickly flickered about, spotting a flat wrench that his gaze lingered on for far too long, a dumb, rookie mistake that would’ve earned him punishment back in basic for his face being wide open.

In the next moment the German had Jason’s head in a strong one arm lock, his other hand inching towards Jason’s neck, trying to snap it.

 _Rude, just fucking rude_ , Jason thought.

Jason grunted, putting the natural instinct of panic behind him as he steadied his legs through his hips, finding his center of gravity as he elbowed the man several times in the abdomen without any luck. The German was a brickhouse and wasn’t budging with any conventional means. Jason coughed and scrambled uselessly, starting to see black dots around the corners of his vision.

It just happened to be then that Jason’s phone started ringing.

The chorus of Nicki Minaj’s _Anaconda_ was obnoxiously loud and inappropriate in the otherwise quiet auto shop. It was Jason’s personalized ringtone for Adam, because, well fuck— _that man’s ass_.

Jason found it extremely funny. Adam however…eh, not so much.

Both men stilled, shocked and confused. The unexpected call made the both of them disoriented, forgetting where they were for a moment, before Jason snapped himself out of his surprised stupor and executed a couple of moves that let him escape out of the headlock. Grabbing for the metal wrench, Jason hit the guy up over the head with it, which met with a satisfying wet thump as the giant went down.

“Fucking slayed Goliath, raa, raa,” Jason huffed, watching the man with narrowed eyes as he grabbed for his phone. He was still moving, groaning something low in German that probably involved Jason getting his nuts chopped off with a dull knife.

Normally, he wouldn’t have answered it, but this was _Adam_ , calling most likely to chew Jason’s ass out for being late. Jason made sure to sound incredibly chipper when he answered the phone.

He realized only a second later how much of a bad idea that was.

“Hey baby, how are you? I—”

“Where the _hell_ are you,” Jason cringed. Adam’s voice was like projectile venom and Jason was trying his best to dodge it. Oh boy, he was _pissed_.

Jason watched as the man got up on unsteady feet, looking at Jason with murder in his eyes. Jason grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at him, holding up his index finger and mouthing _just a sec_. A pissed off Adam was so much scarier than this joker.

“And don’t you _hey, baby_ me—like you being two hours late for dinner makes it forgivable, you utter jackass.” Adam paused, losing some of his vitriol along the way. Sadness and disappointment took shape instead and seeped plainly through his tone, which made Jason hurt ten times worse than any ache on his body ever could. Jason couldn’t stand it when Adam was sad.

It just…seemed _wrong_.

A guy like that being sad—there was no reason for it.

Adam made a soft, hurt noise, “We planned this for _weeks_ and you just…”

Jason carefully stepped around the man, eyeing him cautiously, squeezing his grip around the shaft of the wrench more firmly. He needed to end this. Like now. Like 500 minutes ago.

Jason quickly abided with, “I suck, I know. I _more_ than fucking suck, but something came up and uh…I’m still kind of dealing with it.” Jason finished lamely.

Adam sighed, long and suffering.

“Dylan, if you didn’t want to have this dinner that’s all you had to say. I know my cooking’s not—”

Jason paused, head tilting perplexed and brows furrowing, “Wait—what the fuck? No I wanted— _want_ —to have it, something just came up, okay?”

The giant was coming closer, inching on Jason despite the fact he was on the phone. He weighed his options. Adam was saying something and Jason interrupted him which was a big no-no, but he couldn’t help it, not in this situation.

“Hey babe, I’m going to put the phone down real quick, okay?”

Adam paused, perplex. Jason could almost imagine the confused quirk of his mouth and the slow narrowing of his eyes.

“…Why?”

Jason forced a laugh, “A uh—a dog got into the shop. This ugly Rottweiler of a thing, won’t stop fucking coming at me. Think it has rabies or something.”

The man growled, baring his teeth and looking positively pissed off.

Jason tried not to laugh.

“See? Did you hear tha—oh, gotta go!”

Jason threw the phone on the floor some feet away as the man charged at him, arms held wide open in what looked to be like the most frightening bear hug Jason would ever receive in his lifetime. The man tackled Jason, stealing his breath, back hunching as he grabbed for thick thighs and slammed Jason into his tool shelf, knocking the thing down with their combined body weight. The damn thing didn’t stand a chance.

“I’m alright!” Jason wheezed out to ease Adam’s fears, coughing on the air he had choked on during the impact. God knows what the other man thought was happening, but he really didn’t need his fiancée calling 911.

“Just knocked me into my work station! No biggie!”

Jason punched him in the nose once again, hard, grappling with the man enough so that Jason had him in a headlock this time. Jason’s chest was pressed against the man’s broad back, gripping him and struggling to keep it as the German jerked and bucked. Jason started talking loudly enough to mask the sound of the man’s neck breaking as he twisted and twisted until the body fell limp against him.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief through his nose as he slumped against the floor, resting there for a while to catch his breath before realizing Adam was still on the phone, probably wondering if Jason was dead or not, and freaking out all the while.

He quickly crawled over his to phone, relieved when he saw the call was still connected.

“Dylan! Dylan Wilfred Thomas, I swear to god—what the hell is going—”

Jason shushed him, “Hey, hey I’m okay. I’m okay. Got the dog into the other room, it’s all good.” Jason looked around in a daze, making a face as he soothingly ran a hand over the buzzed undercut of his hair. The texture, the rough smoothness calmed him a bit. The movement reminding Jason of how Adam would absentmindedly trace invisible patterns over his shorn hair, making his spine tremble with pleasurable shivers whenever he did it.

“Well, except my shop’s pretty much trashed now, but that can be fixed with some tender love and care, and I got plenty of that, so it’s all good.” Jason shrugged, pausing before asking, “So…how was _your_ day honey?” Laughter braided into his tone.

Adam sputtered, like he didn’t know what he wanted to say or ask first. Jason didn’t have to see him to know that Adam’s baby blues were wide and confused.

“How the hell did a _dog_ even get into your shop?” Is what he settled on. “Are you okay?”

_Oh, yeah…good question._

Jason blinked dumbly, raking his brain for an excuse.

“Anita must’ve left a door open or something after she left for the day. It’s no big deal—I was here, I should’ve checked.”

Jason felt like grossest bits of trash stuck in the bottom of a dumpster for throwing his secretary, his little helper for short, Anita Palomo under the bus. The tiny little spitfire would’ve narrowed her dark eyes at him, hand on her hip, no doubt promising retribution that Jason would have gladly accepted if she had been here. Jason thanked whatever cosmic entity that she hadn’t been present when the German had walked into his shop.

If something ever happened to Anita…

Jason didn’t even want to consider such a possibility of something bad happening to such a bright and vibrant girl with everything going for her. It was the young girl’s mother however that kept Jason in a perpetual kind of fear. Having already lost one child, Jason was determined he would not be the cause of a loss for another one.

“Dylan…are you _sure_ you’re okay? Do you want me to come down there?” Adam asked, tone highly skeptical and worried. He seemed perplexed by how calmly Jason seemed to be handling this. Dylan Thomas might have grown up mildly privileged, but he hadn’t been completely shielded from the rougher aspects of life altogether.

Jason drew in a façade of a shutter breath, “Yeah, just a little shaken up, but I’m fine, really, you don’t need to bother yourself with leaving the house. I’m fine.” He paused, fidgeting a bit. “Um, I’ll try to be home as soon as possible, but I can’t exactly be sure when that’ll be. You don’t have to wait up—I don’t expect you too. I’m really sorry I missed our dinner babe.”

Adam just sighed, the sound drawn out and incredibly tired over the line. Jason winced because his fiancée sounded _exhausted_ , and not just in a physical way. Jason knew he was losing Adam—had been bit by bit over the last year—and it was honestly the last thing Jason wanted. He grown to truly love this innocent, kind hearted man, a feat he’d never thought he’d be capable of in all his years.

 _I’m too messed up—too cold and too broken_ , Jason had previously thought, but Adam had been like a soothing balm laved onto all his old wounds after years of duck taping them closed and ignoring the aches that came with them.

Jason was going to fix this. He didn’t know how quite yet, but he’d be a fool not to fight for someone like Adam Garland.

“It’s okay D, I just—you know what, it’s nothing.” Adam said. “You’ve had a long day and I’m being selfish. I’ll wrap up your dinner and put it in the microwave—I’ll be in bed.”

Jason bit at his lip, worrying the skin between his teeth until he could taste a faint hint of blood. His eyes shut closed in utter defeat as his index finger and thumb pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

“Thank you.” Jason said quietly, trying to put everything he felt—gratitude, love, appreciation—into those two words.

“Hey, can we reschedule?”

There was a long pause, so long that Jason thought for a moment the line had gone dead.

“Yeah, sure D. Sure.”

Despite the words, Jason didn’t feel comforted or reassured by them at all. The rift that had grown between them in the last year seemed painfully obvious in that moment, gaping and tearing wider and wider as time passed. Jason hated it, hated that he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t good a fixing things, never had been.

Adam hung up before Jason could say anything else, the click of the line shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. He lowered his phone and stared at it for a long moment. A picture of Adam smiling, the sun behind him haloing his head, and highlighting the various strands of his hair that made up that luscious midnight black graced Jason until his phone blinked out.

At the time Jason had been awed by him, simply stunned by how beautiful a person could be both inside and out, and took a picture with his phone before he even knew what he was doing. Adam had looked at him, shocked when he realized what he had done, teasing Jason only a moment later with ‘you think I’m _pretty_ Dylan Thomas, don’t you?’ a big gleaming grin on his face that Jason was completely weak to.

Jason frowned severely, running a hand over his face.

He was pissed at himself mostly. Mad that he hadn’t followed his own rules about getting attached—that he’d fallen in love despite how the original purpose of this rouse had been about fitting in where Jason Todd did not.

Adam Garland had been a perfect accessory to Jason’s façade of a suburban life. Jason just hadn’t counted on caring so much for the sweet, dorky, do-gooder of a man Adam was. It was embarrassing how much he had underestimated his own feelings, that despite what Jason may have told himself about being impenetrable, he was still just as vulnerable and human as the rest of them. It pissed him off, admitting that and knowing it was true.

Jason was suddenly aching for a smoke.

He walked towards the fallen shelf and poked around looking for his hidden pack of cigarettes. It was a habit he was failing at stopping, per the request of his fiancée who at one point, threatened not to be with him if he didn’t quit. Jason considered the dead German sprawled out on his garage floor enough of a reason to have a cheat day.

There wasn’t a lighter around so Jason settled for the next best thing: a blow torch that he set on low, the cigarette just barely touching the bright blue flame as the embers ignited and caught. The first drag was heaven, calming his nerves and the jitters, making his body lax as he leaned against one of the cars in his shop and introspectively considered the Hulk laying in disarray on his checkered floor.

Jason picked up his phone and called a private number. A smooth, cold, and familiar voice answered.

“I need some of your boys to work their magic on my shop and I need it in tip-top shape before morning.” Jason paused, smirking as he blew out a billow of smoke above his head, prodding at a cut that shot perpendicular through his eyebrow.

“I don’t know what size body bags you guys have, but you’re going to need a _big_ one.”


	3. a liar's prelude to the inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i meant to have this up by friday, but i was super busy with work and i needed to change the ending of this chapter a bit before posting. and thanks to everyone who has commented on this story! i'm so glad you guys like this and that you're excited for it because oh godd is there gonna be drama oh boyy. look forward to it!
> 
> so this chapter is basically the calm before the storm lol
> 
> comments are awesome!

He and Adam’s mornings were consistent in their unchanging nature: wake up, shower, dress, make breakfast before Adam left for work. In the past, a quickie would’ve been thrown in there graciously, but neither of them seemed to be much in the mood for romps now-a-days. Sex with Adam always tested Jason’s frayed control. He held back a lot from the other man, not wanting to scare him off or hurt him, which only seemed to leave Adam even more distant afterwards as if he knew Jason wasn’t completely in it.

While their mornings were usually—for the most part—consistent, _this_ particular morning was especially frigid with the dawn that it brought.

Adam wasn’t in bed when Jason woke. The side he’d slept on had long gone cold and Jason immediately brought his limbs back into his own body with a shiver. Jason _knew_ how much he screwed up last night by how Adam’s side of the bed was perfectly made—even with Jason still in it.

Like Jason hadn’t ever been there in first place…

The orderliness was Adam’s own passive-aggressive _fuck you_ , and purposely ironic because Jason had only ever seen Adam make their bed a handful of times, all on the account of Jason constantly bitching at him to do it.

Well…he got his wish, and it fucking _stung_.

There was a small note lying in plain view on Adam’s pillow, and Jason took his time before plucking the paper up apprehensively with twitchy fingers, bringing it up to his face to read.

_Work called, had to go in early. See you later._

Jason sighed, collapsing back into bed, newly exhausted all over again. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, considering not leaving his bed at all today, not with how sucky he suddenly felt first thing. Adam’s scent was wrapped all around him, making Jason more solemn and regretful than anything else, but he loved Adam’s smell so he continued to mope and pine, burrowing himself deeper into the blankets.

Jason knew that the space that had grown between them over the past year had been his fault and to blame anyone other than himself would be a lie.

Dylan traveled a lot and that left he and Adam at odds whenever he returned. It didn’t help that after a couple of those missions, bits of Jason Todd were brought back in various forms of irregular mood swings and no one deserved _that_ , so Jason naturally distanced himself, hiding away at _The Auto Haus_ until closing, and sometimes even later than that.

Jason saw the error in his ways now, how Adam could easily misinterpret that as Dylan losing interest when it wasn’t that at all. He thought he’d be sparing Adam from Jason’s volatile and disruptive nature, but it seemed he was losing either way.

After chiding himself, Jason sought out the shower with sore muscles, standing under the spray and basking in the scalding hot water until his skin flushed bright red. It felt nice. Would’ve felt even better with Adam at his back, arms wrapped around his waist, offering comfort Jason never thought he’d crave as much as he did now.

They used to shower together all the time, kissing each other lips, unable to stop grinning and tasting how the flavor of the water changed on their skin. It was another part of his life that Jason had taken for granted until he’d lost it.

And that’s when the irrational anger surged.

Sometimes Jason wished that he’d never met Adam. Wished that he’d never laid eyes on that vibrant and utterly beautiful man that he had met in that hotel bar, ensnaring his attention and heart so completely. Jason wanted to say that his life would’ve been better for it, but there was a small part of him that highly disagreed.

Adam Garland was everything that Jason Todd could never be: incredibly caring, honest, unsullied, simple, and most importantly, uncomplicated. It was incredibly refreshing having someone in this life that was clean. Where the biggest surprise to ever come out of Adam’s past was an affair he’d had with a college professor back in his early twenties and not much more than that.

Jason exited the shower and got dressed in a simple pair of dark wash jeans, a red graphic tee, and his favorite biker jacket. Breakfast was Adam’s crappy, too-sugary cereal that Jason wolfed down with mild distaste, not in the mood for a big blown out breakfast, his appetite shot.

He picked up some coffee and a box of doughnuts before heading over to _The Auto Haus_ , parking his car next to Anita’s red Jeep Commander.

“I come bearing gifts,” Jason shouted joyfully as he walked in, maneuvering the coffee and doughnuts in both hands. He then proceeded to wince in apology when he saw Anita on the phone, face set in serious, deep lines, talking in hushed tones, but not completely inaudible to a curious bystander.

Jason listen in with a keen ear, mildly concerned for his young assistant as he set one of the coffees down for Anita and put the doughnuts in the back.

“…I can’t believe the _audacity_ of those punks,” Anita hissed, voice hard but the tremor in tone betrayed her. Something in Jason ached to go comfort her, but it wasn’t in his place. It also wouldn’t make the troubles go away no matter how much he wished for them to do so. Life was just cruel like that, always had been.

“Juan’s dead and the bastards are still acting like he owes them shit— _unbelievable_ …” There was a huff of hopeless laughter and then nothing. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?” It wasn’t a question meant to be answered, just sad resignation to the inevitable that Jason had known all too well as a kid fighting to do nothing more than survive.

Jason fingers twitched, aching for the comforting weight of a gun in his grip as he frowned and leaned heavily against the wall out of sight. Anita talked for a bit more and Jason tuned out, giving the girl her privacy where it was due when he had an accurate enough hold on the situation.

Jason caught himself reminiscing on their first meeting, right when Jason had opened up shop about three years ago.

He’d known ahead of time that the location of his shop wasn’t in the best part of town. Rival gangs had been known to run around and settle their disputes in the area, and many had warned him about the shop’s location as plans solidified and became more real.

Jason hadn’t really cared however. Unknown to most, he’d seen worse and had lived in it too, so it was nothing a few strategically placed cameras and a nice screeching alarm couldn’t handle. Besides, those wannabe gangbangers were absolute _children_ compared to the _Solntsevskaya_ of Jason’s distant past, who could’ve literally made him shit his pants with just one mention. But Jason had out grown his fear of gangs a long time ago the moment he learned how to kill someone with a spoon. Jason knew he was the most vicious thing on these streets, bar-none.

The prospect of punishment however hadn’t stopped an itty-bitty, little fiery teenage girl from breaking in and avoiding tripping the major alarm that notified the police. Jason, ever the paranoid worrier, had his own fail-safes in place and Anita managed to trip just about every single one of them.

Jason had turned the car back around with an upbeat whistle, shooting Adam a quick text that he’d be late for their movie date, and booked it going fifty back to the _Haus_. Jason had pocketed the hand gun strapped under the driver’s seat as he parked his car a couple of houses back and stealthily entered around the entrance’s back.

Jason had found Anita easily enough, surprised that it was just some runt of a girl instead of an enemy agent like he’d come to expect and anticipate. The fact that she hadn’t tripped the loud alarm was pure luck, Jason deduced quickly enough.

She was extremely nervous and therefore, clumsy because of it, murmuring frantic prayers under her breath in Spanish, asking god to forgive her as she bagged anything that looked like it was worth a pretty penny. Jason had watched her both parts bemused and solemn, putting his gun up, knowing he wouldn’t need it.

He almost allowed her to go with no problems until she spotted his current project. Jason immediately saw how the wheels started turning in her head, ideas of rolling the bike out and selling it to the highest bidder.

Jason wondered vaguely what she needed the money for and why she was so desperate to get it in such a reckless way. Jason allowed her to take two awed steps towards the bike before he awkwardly cleared his throat and threw the lights on.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to stop you there.” Jason said, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly, hoping this girl didn’t have a gun and surprise shoot him. “I’ve been working on that bike for _months_ and I _really_ don’t wanna start over.”

Anita’s eyes had instantly snapped to Jason’s and she screamed bloody murder, dark eyes bugging out as panic became her and she fell on her butt in a graceless heap. All of the goods in her bag spilled out onto the checkered tile, a noisy clatter as she uselessly tried to wrangle various items back into the bag without success, her hands shaking too bad.

It had taken a lot to calm her down and convince her that Jason wasn’t going to call the cops or beat her, which made him pause in barely held back fury because someone had done _exactly that_ to this girl beforehand to make her fear it being a possibility again.

Jason had brewed some coffee in the main waiting room and they relocated to sit in Jason’s office, each on opposite ends of the leather couch with steaming cups in their hands.

Anita had taken a careful sip, mindful not to burn her lip.

“God, even the coffee’s good in this place.” She murmured under her breath, not making eye contact with Jason out of shame. Her whole body screamed it, notifying to Jason that this kind of behavior wasn’t normal for this girl.

Jason snorted. “My boyfriend would be happy to hear you say that—he picked out the brand.” Jason said. “I can’t stand the stuff to be honest with you.” He laughed, even as he held a cup in his hand; black, two sugars. It had been that kind of night however.

“So,” Jason began slowly, shifting. “What has a tiny thing like you desperate enough to commit breaking and entering? Honestly, I was going to let you go, but then again…I think there’s more going on here then you just needing a quick buck. Am I right?” Jason paused, letting the words sink in.

When Anita didn’t respond, Jason leaned in slightly, hoping his voice was reassuring when he asked, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

Anita had snorted a dry disbelieving thing that was powerful enough to rock her shoulders as dark eyes finally landed on Jason and narrowed. The look in them was skeptical, distrustful, and cynical all at the same time, and it reminded Jason so much of himself that he’d forgotten how to breathe for a short moment, feeling like he was looking into a mirror.

Rather reluctantly, with a few coaxing words from Jason, Anita had begun telling Jason her story.

From birth it had always been just her, her mother, and her older brother. Her father had left before she’d even been born—a deadbeat she had no desire to meet, but the heartbreak at being abandoned for no reason still persisted despite her tough exterior and strong words. Jason could see it clearly, knowing what to look for and seeing a fragmented reflection of his younger self.

Anita’s mother had always struggled it seemed, taking up multiple jobs to make sure her kids had what they needed and _only_ just that. After a while, her brother had gotten tired of struggling and joined a gang, thinking it would solve all of their problems.

And for a while, it had.

Anita’s words had started coming faster, emotion making them unsteady as her eyes became glossy and tears started to fall, much to Jason’s horror. He didn’t know how to handle girls crying. It always reminded him of his mother, making an uncomfortable lump settle deep inside his throat at the bitter reminder.

Jason quickly fetched some tissue off his desk and handed it to her, nodding for her to continue, listening attentively. This girl needed that—for someone to just _listen_.

After blowing her nose, Anita had then told Jason about how her brother had quickly risen in the ranks of the gang, coming home with money bleeding out his pockets it seemed.

“When mama asked him where all the money was coming from, Juan just said he’d gotten a job, that it paid him really well.” Anita hiccupped, wiping futile at her eyes. “Me and my ma didn’t question it at first—I mean, my mother has always struggled—her whole goddamn life since she arrived in the States and I—I was just _so_ happy that we didn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck anymore. You just…you don’t understand what that feels like, going through that...”

Jason hadn’t commented on how he _did_ know. How he knew more intimately than most what going to bed hungry felt like, what going to bed cold and shivering felt like, and all the other struggles that came with crippling poverty.

Dylan Thomas however, didn’t know about these things and what they felt like, so Jason had kept his mouth shut.

“But then that’s when Rico and Charles started coming around—asking if Juan lived around or had come by recently. I told them I hadn’t seen him in two weeks and I was telling the truth, scared shitless that if I lied they’d just _know_.”

“I asked them why they were looking for him, but they wouldn’t tell me, thinking I’d go back and warn my brother—and I would’ve—but I asked around. Apparently, someone was skimming drug money, and my heart just sank because I knew…”

She broke off in quiet sobs, clutching at her chest as if it was breaking with each word.

Jason’s heart had ached for the girl that couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and already dealing with a shit hand that life had dealt out.

“What happened after that?” Jason prompted softly after she’d gone quiet, far off look in her eye that told Jason all of what he needed to know, but still, it was good to get it out.

Anita had looked up at Jason then, all emotion vacant from her face, eyes having gone cold. A deep dark abyss opening up and swallowing everything that made eyes vibrant.

Jason felt himself shiver.

Her voice was dull and empty as she told Jason, “They took him out into the woods about a couple miles off of Dearwood Park. Beat him for a bit, then decapitated him execution style with butcher’s knife. They just… _left_ him there, for the bugs and animals to feed off of him before some kids playing in the brush with their dog managed to find what was left. They thought his skeleton was some gag prop until it actually clicked.” Her voice trailed off, faint.

“We had nothing to bury at the funeral. My mother was inconsolable—he was her first child...”

Anyone else, and Jason was sure nobody could comfortably hold that gaze, but he did—made sure too.

He had offered nothing else other than a hand, grasping hers, so small and cold in his and squeezing. There weren’t words that he could’ve said—that _anyone_ could’ve said—to make that injustice right.

She nodded her head solemnly in thanks, and took a moment to gather herself before speaking again.

“When they have nothing better to do, they sometimes still harass me and my mother about the money. I just…” She looked down at herself, as if seeing for the first time. “I didn’t know what else to do. Your shop was the only nice looking place on this street and I just—I was desperate. I’m sorry I took your things, if there’s anything I can do...”

Jason had watched her for moment, weighing his options and what he could do to help this girl that he’d immediately taken a protective stance over. The decision came surprisingly quick.

“Okay,” He said slowly, thoughtfully, and Anita blinked up at him warily, shrinking into herself a bit.

Jason blinked, confused by the reaction until it clicked and his whole body seemed to cringe at the implication and how it must’ve sounded to this girl.

“Oh god no, cut that shit out—nothing like that, _Jesus_ kid. What I meant was: work for me.”

Anita’s eyes had widened, shocked. “Excuse me?”

Jason snorted, amused at her dumbfounded look.

“You need cash right?” Jason began cheerfully. “I could use someone up at the front desk, answering calls and greeting anyone who happens to walk in. It’s inconvenient as hell, you know—running back and forth between the garage and the front room, so whaddaya say? I’m a _pretty_ cool guy once you get to know me, even better boss.”

Jason had grinned, pointing fingers guns in her direction and shooting them off with a wink.

Anita had laughed at that, easing the bleak atmosphere a bit with the uplifting sound, and Jason was determined from then on to hear more of it.

“Are…are you sure?” She asked skeptically, her confusion clear as day. “I mean, you caught me stealing from you no more than two hours ago and you just…offer me a job? How does that make even a _bit_ of sense?”

Jason shrugged, throwing his arms up.

“Well, I mean—why not?” Jason said plainly. “And here’s where the sense comes in _dearie_ —” Her nose had crinkled in distaste at the nickname, “You don’t have to steal and get caught up in a life that you—or anyone else in your shoes, for that matter—wasn’t made for. I don’t believe in punishing kids for wanting to survive and doing whatever they have to do to achieve that.”

Jason got up from the couch, easing into a stretch. He sighed, pleased when he felt his back crack. He looked down at Anita again.

“Now it’s up to _you_ to decide what to make of it, and that’s all I can do, kid.”

Anita had stared at him for several long moments, her expression a mix of awe and utter bewilderment, as if not quite sure whether or not Jason was real.

“When do I start?” She asked meekly.

Jason pretended to think about it, “Hmm, how about tomorrow? Nine AM starting time sound cool to you?”

* * *

Helena Bertinelli was waiting for him when Dick walked into work.

There was no one in the office this early in the morning, and the usual bustle of moving bodies, loud work phones, and even louder shouting between the rows and columns was absent.

It was almost peaceful, but then Dick had spotted Helena and any calm he felt was replaced by skeptical anxiety.

Dick took a breath and strolled up the row leading to his loathed little cubical. Dick hated working in such a closed off, enclosed space, but with Helena perched on his desk, legs crossed, pencil skirt riding up her deeply tanned thigh, the 8 x 9 almost looked tempting enough to stay in for more than five minutes.

Helena was tracing her finger along the edge of photograph pinned to the corkboard on the side of Dick’s cubical. The board had various false faces of Adam Garland’s squeaky-clean and utterly simple life, however, the picture that had captured Helena’s attention was of him and Dylan, pressed closed, smiling like complete dopes, arms wrapped around each other.

It had been taken right after Dylan had proposed.

The intensity of her stare on that picture made Dick want to fidget, or unpin it from the corkboard all together so Helena’s eyes couldn’t dissect every nuisance of it. Dick only avoided doing so by rolling back on his heels, grounded by the pressure and his feet solidly on the floor as he gave a low whistle, waiting.

After a while, Helena finally spoke.

“Nice to see you Richard, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” Helena said quietly, polite enough.

Her eyes dark almond eyes finally met his and held for a moment more before she coolly swept her gaze over his body, taking in his formal work clothes and the bulk of his body.

“You look good,” She said, inclining her head. She was a foot shorter than him and yet, Dick always felt like Helena towered over him.

“Married life suits you it seems.”

“Not married yet,” Dick said, plunging his hands into his slack pockets, and therefore his engagement ring. It wasn’t something that Dick liked to acknowledge that the agency knew, even though they knew _everything_ , even the type of toothpaste Dick preferred.

Most on the board had been opposed to Dick getting mock-married to civilian, but he’d managed to make it work in his favor. He’d always been good at convincing others where many might’ve given up without even trying. He was extremely stubborn in that way.

Besides, it was undeniable how convenient the cover was that Dick couldn’t take no for answer. That, and maybe a more childish and immature desire to best Helena at something finally.

She had been one of the ones that had protested the most against it.

Relationships between agents was preferred, even encouraged within the agency and Helena had tried to convince Dick of taking the more accepted route, but even the idea of it sounded extremely sour to his ears. Dick had people he got along with within the agency just fine, but they were all a very… _different_ kind of people.

When you killed for a living, well…that did something to you.

The idea of spending even _more_ time with another agent was just enough to give Dick a migraine. Dylan was a breath of much needed fresh air: refreshing, invigorating if not a little aggravating at times, but really, honestly, who wasn’t?

“I still haven’t received a wedding invitation yet.” Helena joked knowingly, a small smile gracing the curve of her lightly painted lips. They were blood red.

Dick matched it humorlessly, shrugging, “We haven’t set a date yet—long engagement.” Dick shortly explained, not in the mood to play games with Helena today.

That smile grew a bit before her expression evened out.

 _Ah, to business then_ , _finally_ Dick thought, standing straighter. He was thankful. Talking to Helena like a normal person always made Dick feel uneasy. He was good at reading people, but Helena escaped him completely. She was an enigma, an utterly dangerous one.

No one even knew how _old_ she really was. Some of the more far-fetched theories even speculated that she wasn’t even human, but some type of cyborg or robot, and the rumors only got more ridiculous from there.

Helena shifted, legs uncrossing and then re-crossing again on the opposite side. A test in distraction. Dick didn’t even blink, so used to it.

“Anyways, getting to the business at hand, Richard” Helena began. “I have an assignment for you.”

Dick nodded his head, accepting without a word.

 _Good_ , he thought. He needed a distraction—a thrill—to take his mind off things.

Helena continued on, a smart phone suddenly in her grip as she handed it to Dick. He eyed the middle aged Caucasian man with graying side burns, looking far off, unaware that his photo was being taken. Dick scrolled through several more photos of the man with his entourage of four—big, blocky men, your usual regular types—entering an expensive looking hotel, and then exiting the hotel, only difference was that the sky was noticeably darker.

Dick snorted, grinning closed lipped.

“And who is this lovely gentlemen?”

“That is Alexi Anatoli, a very important Ukrainian political figure,” Helena began. “One of the seventeen Ministries that holds a percentage of power over the Prime Minister’s political decision making and—”

Dick hummed, “Okay, yeah, sure, but what’s his deal though?”

Helena gave him a pointed look, displeased by his interruption and his breezy attitude.

“I was getting to that _Richard_ ,” She said, sounding like his mother. “It is highly likely that Anatoli holds a information that would be greatly beneficial for our agency in obtaining. If we can manage to get our hands on it—”

Dick blinked, “What is it?”

Helena looked at him for a long moment, mouth pinched.

“That information is classified.”

Dick sighed out a frustrated breath, hands lifting in aspiration because, _of course_!

“Really?” Dick asked, flabbergasted, shaking his head with bewilderment. “I’m getting the darn thing for you, and I’m not even allowed to know what it is?”

“It’s not in my designation Richard. This comes from up top and I’ve been told to keep this sensitive information private, it’s nothing personal—just how the job works.”

Dick huffed, “Yeah, yeah, fine I’ll do it.”

He wasn’t pouting when he asked, “When do I leave?”

“Anatoli is visiting an estate of his in the Czech Republic on Friday, so he’ll be absent from his office with minimal security over the weekend. We’ll fly you out to Kiev Wednesday, arrive Thursday evening, that should give you enough time to set your ducks in a row. A team will be sent with you as well, for support.” Helena clarified.

Dick nodded. “Which team?”

“Lucas Trent, among two others.” She said, without missing a beat.

Dick tried not to groan and roll his eyes, but Helena caught his less than pleased expression, chuckling mirthfully at Dick’s own hesitance at working with Trent, yet again.

“He actually requested to work this one with you,” Helena added oh-so helpfully. “You two work well together anyhow. You’re both…very _effective_ out in the field and that’s what we need.”

Dick wanted to disagree, but he kept his mouth shut.

He’d worry about Lucas when he needed too. Another day, a later worry.

The only difficult part would be finding a sturdy enough excuse to tell Dylan why he was going on a five-day trip in two days.

He’d manage.

* * *

The call came when Jason was at his desk, mouth stuffed full with a raspberry filled jelly doughnut, going through his electronic planner to see if he had any appointments or important calls to make for the day.

Jason shifted, eyes still fixed on the desktop screen as he worked his phone out of his back pocket with a low, displeased grumble.

He promptly started to chew faster when the caller ID read: _Private Number._

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Jason muttered jokingly under his breath. It had been a while since he’d had been called on and Jason was eager for the distraction.

This time the job was in Kiev, an extraction mission that they wouldn’t tell Jason anything about other than _go get it_ , but he didn’t mind his handler’s constant avoidance of the subject. To be honest, Jason really did care. As long as he managed to obtain the thing, nothing else really mattered.

The call ended abruptly. The handler promised more information with time and Jason felt his heart speed up in anticipation, eager for it—for the up and coming challenge.

Jason felt a smile pulling at his lips, sharper and bit more feral than usual. It’d been too long since he’d felt that particular kind of excitement that came with risking your life.

Jason was a self-admitted adrenaline junkie and perhaps even a suicidal bastard by all the risks that he took in the field. Jason’s superiors constantly scolded him for it, but they couldn’t deny that he pulled through each and every time with hard won results, so they couldn’t say much on the subject.

Besides, Jason was made for this kind of high pressure work. Did his best when bullets were flying and he could feel his heart pounding away as if about to erupt from his chest.

Jason called out to Anita then, and the young woman popped her head in after a moment.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“Could you please kindly cancel any appointments I have Wednesday through the weekend and notify the affected folks? Looks like something just came up and I won’t be able to make them…”

Anita’s eyes widened in concern, “Everything alright?” She asked.

Jason nodded his head, trying not to grin and knowing he was failing as he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He quickly looked back to the desktop, avoiding Anita’s eyes.

“Oh yeah, yeah.” Jason didn’t offer anything more than that.

Anita hummed, her eyes narrowing skeptically. She could sense that something was off, but couldn’t properly identify just what. Jason was always impressed by Anita’s intuition, if not a little bit incensed because being an infiltrating Russian spy aside, having someone ask questions was highly inconvenient and could get not only himself killed, but everyone he associated with, including Anita.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head amused.

“You’re a strange guy Mr. T, but that’s okay.” She said, backing out of Jason’s office.

Jason swore he heard Anita quietly say, “Be safe,” before the door clicked shut.

He smiled into his hand, thanking whatever cosmic deity that she wasn’t the nosy type.


	4. a liar's shivaree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just want to say thank you to all who have expressed excitement for this story. You all are so kind and just make me smile reading what you think. I enjoy writing this fic a lot, so it's really nice to see you guys like it too.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter...hehe. Basically it is the start of the end--when the shit starts to hit the fan. I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Comments are always awesome and appreciated.

Adam’s phone alarm went off at an ungodly hour the day of his flight out to Arizona.

Jason had pretended he wasn’t as pissed as he was when Adam sprung the news on him over dinner, casual and matter-of-fact, like this news wasn’t new to Jason at all and he was just supposed to role with his fiancée’s sudden bail. Jason hadn’t complained about it like he’d wanted too, reigning in his tone and attitude, appearing cool and aloof about the sudden departure. It saved Jason from making his own flimsy, half-assed excuse as to why _he_ wouldn’t be in town for the next couple of days.

Jason promised himself that he would confront Adam about it later, but when work called, Jason could do nothing other than answer.

Anticipation was a simmering, dormant thing under his skin, finally ready to catch fire once again. It had been too long since his last assignment, almost six months to the date and he was suffering from the withdrawals.

What movies and television shows didn’t take into consideration when making their big budget productions was the amount of down-time undercover agents had. His superiors had told Jason during his academy days that this particular line of work could be summarized in one word: _patience_.

Jason hadn’t believed them then, headstrong and cocky, eager for danger and looking for confrontation anywhere he could find it. How right all his instructors were in the end.

Jason faked sleeping, watching Adam go back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom, dark hair wet.

When was the last time Jason had carded his hand through those locks? Felt their softness? Felt Adam’s accompanying shiver? There had been a time early on in their relationship that Jason couldn’t go five or ten minutes without touching Adam’s hair in some way.

Now, Adam just found it annoying, brushing him off with a disinterested shrug.

God, how had Jason allowed for this space to open up between them? How could he fix it? Was it even fixable?

 _Of course it fucking is_ , Jason shouted fiercely inside his head, scoffing at his own weakness.

_He’s still here with you, still tolerates your shit and your moody ass, and until he says he’s done, don’t you dare give up on him. He deserves that much._

Jason watched Adam dress with the sliver of his eye that was cracked open. He admired him and promised himself that once he got back, he’d do whatever he needed to do to save their failing relationship. Adam was worth it, Jason knew that much, and he be damned if he didn’t do anything about it.

Jason’s heartbeat sped when he realized Adam was looking at him, watching him supposedly sleep.

He knew he hadn’t been found out, so he schooled his breathing into a controlled lull and relaxed his muscles as best he could, and carefully closed his eye. Adam didn’t say a thing, just hovered over him and Jason could feel the pressure, had long been accustomed to knowing when someone was standing over him, or just near his space. Jason’s fingers twitched under the pillow he was resting on, trying to control his natural instincts of lashing out.

This was _Adam_ for pete’s sake! The same man who, whenever he found a spider roaming around in their house, would catch it and release it back into the wild with a warning that sounded more like a school yard jingle than anything else.

Jason had nothing to be afraid of…and yet, why was he...?

There was just something inside Jason—his primitive lizard brain he supposed—that just wouldn’t calm the fuck down.

Honestly, it was the strangest thing. Jason tried not to tense up when Adam stepped closer. He felt like a complete idiot for getting so worked up when Adam only leaned down to place a soft, feather-like kiss on his forehead. His lips were moving, mouthing something on Jason’s skin, but the words were quiet. Jason tried to dissect what he might’ve said by cataloguing the movements of his lips, but came up empty handed.

Adam soothed his hair and lingered for a moment longer before he grabbed his things and quietly shut the bedroom door behind him.

Going back to sleep was near impossible after that.

Jason didn’t even try.

* * *

 

The flight to Kiev was arguing with Lucas Trent about which plans made sense and which ones were absolutely mental, which most if not all, were Trent’s ideas.

The inside of private jet was painted in beige warm tones, nicely accented with blues and browns and Lucas and Dick sat in the main cabin around a square coffee table with various pictures of Alexi Anatoli and his entourage, his office from multiple angles, and a blue print of the government building it was located in.

Lucas was smirking, leaning back casually on the leather couch, nursing a crystalline tumbler filled with brandy. Dick gave him a pointed look, already aspirated beyond belief with the other man.

Lucas Trent was good at what he did—honestly, one of the best—but he was rightfully arrogant and cocky in way that he knew was justified, which only made him more of a pain to work with. The fact that Lucas was also insanely attracted to him, and never seemed to stop flirting with him even on the job was just the icing on the cake. Dick swore Lucas only did it now to mess with him, rather than expressing any of his attraction.

Dick sighed.

They still had six more hours before they landed in Kiev. How was he supposed to do this?

“Are you _really_ honestly drinking right now?” He asked, making a face. “Has anyone ever told you, you just might be an alcoholic?”

Lucas laughed and it reminded Dick of thunder, the big booming resonances of it. There was a pleased, bright little twinkle in Lucas’s eyes and his mouth was quirked in a boyish grin that Dick supposed he used on whomever he wanted to sleep with in bars or clubs. Lucas even probably thought it was charming.

“Has anyone ever told _you_ how beautiful you look utterly fed up?” Lucas shot right back without pause.

“In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one bad side of you, Grayson and I’ve seen _a lot_.”

Dick rolled his eyes, throwing himself back into the couch with a frustrated groan. He rubbed over his eyes with tired fingers, feeling a headache coming on. Maybe he could get an hour nap in before they landed. He’d try. A handful of Tylenol was always a trusted back-up.

“God, do you ever just hear yourself sometimes?”

Lucas chuckled, “What are you trying to say? You mean to tell me you don’t like the sound of my voice? I’m hurt Dickie.”

Dick ignored him. Enough years with Lucas Trent and a person got used to his unusual brand of special. He rested the crown of his head against the crest roll of the couch, closing his eyes.

“I swear Helena just pairs us up together so she can hear the horror stories later on.”

He heard Lucas shifting opposite of him, teeth clicking.

“Aw _c’mon_ , stuff like Buenos Aires only happened once…okay, maybe twice, but Prague wasn’t my fault and you know it! We’re a good team Grayson, just admit it.” Lucas paused, taking a sip of whisky. “You know, when you actually get your head out of your ass and listen to me for a change we make great things happen, you can’t deny that.” Lucas smiled sticky sweet.

Dick just frowned at him, making a sound that wasn’t an agreement or disagreement, just acknowledgement that Lucas wasn’t completely hopeless.

“Oh, why thank you,” Lucas grinned.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Dick looking aimlessly out of one of the windows, thinking of Dylan, about what he was currently doing, if he’d miss him, if he’d even notice that he’d left.

Like clockwork, Lucas spoke up then about the hottest topic on Dick’s mind.

“So,” Lucas began lightly. “How’s the hubby?”

“We’re not married,” Dick said dryly.

Why did everyone do that?

“Yet,” Lucas filled in helpfully. “You did really well in the husband picking department by the way. That boy is _gorgeous_ , but I’m sorry to say, he doesn’t hold a candle to you sweetheart.”

Dick smiled despite himself, trying to hide it with his hand, but it was too late. Lucas had seen.

“Would you look at that,” Lucas said fondly under his breath. “Just one mention and a smile that brilliant graces the likes of me. I feel utterly blessed, _truly_.”

Dick flipped him off, but he was still laughing.

“You’re such an asshole,” Dick murmured after the tremors died down and Lucas just shrugged, like being an asshole didn’t bother him one bit.

“Has you wrapped around his pretty little finger, doesn’t he?”

There was something in Lucas’s tone that made Dick cut his gaze to his partner. The warning underneath his light, playful tone—the underlying caution that blinked like red warning lights in the night. Lucas wasn’t judging him however, not like Helena and all the others did. Lucas had his own well kept secrets and he could understand and respect other people’s close kept ones.

 _Be careful_ , was what the gleam in Lucas’s eyes seemed to say. Of course he wouldn’t say it out loud, there were recording devices on this jet no doubt, anything important that couldn’t be said was communicated through meaningful looks alone. And even though he was annoying and insufferable at times, Dick knew he could trust Lucas, and that made up for everything else he had to constantly deal with.

 _I will_ , is what Dick emoted back, shutting his eyes for real this time as he drifted to sleep. He didn’t wake until the plane landed, Lucas lightly shaking his shoulder.

“Up and at ‘em,” Lucas said, presenting Dick with a water bottle.

Kiev was cold and wet when they disembarked.

Dick sniffed, bundling his arms close towards the heat of his body. Lucas didn’t mind the cold so he carried all the stuff. Dick was thankful.

They took a car left for them to the hotel they’d be staying at in Kiev. They went in separately, pretending they didn’t know each other as they stood in line, waiting to get their room keys.

Two different rooms, right beside one another to avoid suspicion. Lucas and Dick had a bit of down time before the other two tech guys, Dick liked to call them, arrived before morning. There was nothing they needed to be briefed on that their handlers hadn’t already told them, so Dick didn’t stress.

Instead, he took a shower and thought about Dylan.

Unknown to Dick at that very moment, Jason Todd was hours away from arriving into Kiev himself, cleaning his guns while absentmindedly wondering how his future husband was doing, pondering the possibility if he should call or not, to check-up.

Jason Todd did not call.

Something told him not to. Something told him to _wait_.

Jason instead watched the sun breach over the horizon, signally one long day coming up ahead.

He sighed. There wasn’t one cloud in the goddamn sky.

The sun blinded him.

* * *

 

It was game day and Dick woke bright and early.

He showered, then dressed into the clothes Lucas had brought him—a dark navy blue suit, white dress shirt, light blue accent tie that Lucas said matched his eyes.

All in all, looking at his reflection in the mirror, Dick looked good. He was a mix of classy, sexy, and hopefully dashing enough to walk into a heavily monitored government office, blend in, and not be questioned.

Lucas was waiting for him outside in the hall, leaning against the far wall and casually checking out a younger looking blonde man who had passed by before Dick had opened the door.

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “Set your sights on someone already, Trent? C’mon, we’ve got work.”

Lucas grinned and gave Dick a wink. “Don’t worry baby, you’re still my favorite.”

And with that they walked off towards the elevators, stride matching the other’s, one light, another dark.

“Michael and Kent are downstairs,” Lucas informed Dick as they waited for the elevator to hit the lobby level.

Michael and Kent were the tech guys, the voices in Dick’s ear piece that were his eyes when it came to the overall bigger picture. Dick liked them well enough. They were strange individuals and an even odder duo, but it was undeniable that they were talented in what they did.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dick begun, not looking forward to the long day ahead of him. “The sooner we get this done the better.”

Trent nodded his head, “Couldn’t agree more.”

* * *

 

“How hot is this one?”

The new kid was just itching to get on Jason’s nerves it seemed.

He couldn’t stand overly chatty people—Adam being his one weird exception—but chatty Kathy here had nothing on his fiancée and it was giving Jason the pre-job jitters.

They had set up shop inside a van under the name of a fake air conditioning company as soon as morning traffic started to condense, making it easier to disguise just how much they didn’t belong there. Jason and his temporary crew were parked a block away from the government building, a drone patrolling the surrounding area, watching and waiting for their red herring.

Jason took a moment to answer the kid’s question, wanting him to sweat before he got his answer.

“It’s as hot as when Oprah bounced her way over hot coals, kid,” Jason said. Lenny, the controller of the drone, snickered next to his side, murmuring something or another about how he liked Oprah. Jason easily ignored him.

“Just about every intelligence agency is after this little golden nugget of information, kid. What it is? I couldn’t tell you, and honestly, I don’t really give a flying fuck, but we’ve been asked to get it from whomever walks into that building to retrieve it, and that’s all that matters.”

The kid opened his mouth again, but the look on Jason’s face quieted him instantly.

Jason’s reputation was well known throughout all the different divisions of the agency. His infamous temper and notorious ruthlessness that had once made him stand out during his novice days, still seemed to follow him. It was handy with new agents that liked to play 20 questions, like newbie over here, but other than that, Jason had liked to think he’d grown up some since his terror teens.

“God kid, you’re killing me. Just shut up, get cozy, and wait. It won’t be long before we find an irregular among the crowd, and then you won’t be asking questions—you’ll just _know_.”

* * *

 

The _Budynok Urayadu_ literally translated to “The Government Building” when Dick decoded it in his mind. His mouth curved subtly to one side in amusement as he walked up to the building that looked more like a hotel than anything else.

The building was a large semi-circle, ten stories in all with the exception of the sides: seven stories and pillared with thick beams on each side. The first two floors on the outside were faced with big, uncut blocks of Tulchyn labradorite, a black mineral with blue and light pink accents of feldspar, while the rest of the building was encased in an off-white granite. Stunning really.

The building, architecturally, was a love note to Joseph Stalin, plain and simple. A pretty, painted portrait of communism back when the Ukraine had been under Soviet rule.

Dick admired the beautifully sculpted portals as he entered inside, unsurprised to see a small line of people at the only open metal detector station among four others. Dick flashed his phony badge and the female security guard didn’t even bother to take a look, more awed over his bright dazzling smile and how his words silkily molded against a softly spoken and polite hello.

He heard a disbelieving laugh in his right ear.

“Goddamn,” Kent said. “I don’t even know why I make you IDs anymore when they never even fucking bother to look at them. A waste of good laminate if you ask me.”

Dick breezed by with an upbeat whistle on his lips, suitcase in his left hand, clipping his ID badge on his jacket’s front pocket, a clear indicator that he belonged. He eased his glasses up with a middle finger, smiling at, what Dick guessed, were a couple of female interns who were watching him with lowered lashes and coy smiles.

“Okay, keep it in your pants Grayson,” Said a new voice—Michael—recognizable by how his tones were almost always aloof and sardonic. He muttered something sounding distinctively rude under his breath before adding, “Take a left and keep going straight until you see a pair of golden elevators. You’ll hit the button for the sixth floor. When you exit, there will be a security guard and he’ll ask to see your badge. I assume you have it on, yes?”

Dick gave a subtle nod of his head, pretending to find something fascinating on his phone.

“Good. After they’re finished checking you out, you’re going to go down the first hallway you happen upon on your right. Anatoli’s office is the last door in that hallway. There’s a keypad, so type quickly. The passcode is 4-7-5-9-1-6-0. Remember Grayson, if someone sees you’ve entered, the whole thing is shot to hell. So be discreet about it. I know that might be hard for you, knowing you, but I have faith.”

Entering the elevator, Dick watched the numbers climb with a detached sort of calmness.

It was an easy job—he’d done several like it a thousand times before, but still, there was always a chance that the whole mission could blow up in his face. Dick felt comforted however by the weight of the gun holstered next to his side, hidden carefully among layers of clothing, and made up of a special material that could pass through a metal detector with no problem.

Like Michael had said, a security guard was waiting on the sixth floor of the mini-lobby. The man was tall and broad shouldered, dressed in the blandest of black and white suits. The middle aged man took one look at Dick and immediately his eyebrows drew together in a fuzzy furrow, dubious.

Dick walked up to him without a pause in his step, his stride confident and powerful, and he smiled at the man like he’d known him forever. Dick handed him his badge without being asked and the man took it with a well-meaning skeptical look, comparing Dick’s smiling face now to the picture with a lengthy stare.

“I haven’t seen you around before.” The man said offhandedly, giving Dick another thoughtful glance. “Are you new?”

Dick smiled shyly, scratching at the back of his neck like this whole thing embarrassed him.

“Yeah,” He replied back in a Ukrainian dialect specific of the eastern part of the country. “I’m Mykyta Stasiuk’s new assistant. This is my third time to the office.” Dick held up his brief case. “I’m just here to drop a few things off before Mr. Stasiuk arrives. I was supposed to last night, but you know…” He gave a leery thing of a smile.

The mere mention of Alexi Anatoli’s fellow peer made the man wince in sympathy as he gave Dick a pitying look. He handed Dick back his badge back, stepping out of his way with a terse nod.

“That man can’t be an easy one to work for, always having his nose in the air like he can’t bear to look down at the rest of us, but if you keep your head about you, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Off you go then.”

Dick smiled again in thanks, casually hightailing it out of there.

He didn’t know how long that cover would hold. Stasiuk’s real assistant or anyone affiliated with the man could come in and reveal Dick as the imposter that he very much was.

After he turned the corner into the hallway, Dick adopted a brisk jog, unbuttoning his suit jacket so the fabric wouldn’t hinder his movements.

“Good going so far, Grayson,” Kent said. “The cameras are now on a loop. I say you have about fifteen minutes before someone starts getting suspicious. Work fast. No pressure or anything.”

Dick laughed under his breath, coming to a stop at Anatoli’s door. He took one more cautious look down the hallway before punching in the keypad code and sighing in relief when the lock clicked open. He slid in and shut the door softly, leaning his back against the thick of the mahogany door, taking a moment to gather himself and his thoughts.

Kent and Michael didn’t disturb him with quips or sarcastic remarks, knowing better than to disrupt his flow of things.

Pushing off the door, Dick took a look around, starting his search around the perimeter of the small office, tracing over beige walls, looking for disturbances or abnormalities. He lifted various pictures and portraits, looking for any kind of secret compartments, and when he found nothing of the sort, Dick then hurried over towards the oak desk and sat his butt in the plush padded chair.

Drawers were opened in a flurry, no time for finesse or delicacy when the clock was ticking.

The uppermost drawer, rectangular and small, yielded the most promising of results. Dick smiled triumphantly as he found a tawny, oblong safe key, holding it up in front of his face with narrowed eyes.

“Found a key…just need to find the lock that it belongs too…” Dick muttered to himself, looking around the office once again, wanting to make sure he wasn’t overlooking anything important. He shifted in the chair, noticing that none of the drawers had any kind of secret compartments to hold a safe that was modeled after the key he was currently twisting in his hand.

It was just an estimate, but Dick suspected from the model of the key the safe he was looking for was a fairly small, TRTL60X6 type series, fire resistant and time consuming to crack if you didn’t have a key or were going in blind and clueless.

Lost in his thoughts, Dick fumbled the key and panicked as it dropped on the hardwood floor with a resounding tinny clang. The sound was all too loud to his ears and he winced, hoping that no one was close enough to the door to hear that someone was definitely in Mr. Anatoli’s office and it wasn’t the man himself.

Dick leaned over to retrieve the thing and his brows shot up at the almost unnoticeable change of elevation in the one spot the key had dropped. His heart sped up in anticipation as he felt over the particular patch of floor, observant of how the dip slightly inclined. It was especially odd and something that Dick latched onto.

Getting down on all fours until his ear was level with the floor, Dick lightly tapped against the wood, smiling giddy with success when the sound rang out distinctively hollow.

“Found you…” He said to himself, feeling for breaks and used a knife to pry the wooden puzzle piece from the floor.

“Hey, just a five-minute head’s up Grayson.” Kent said quietly in his ear as if not to startle him. Sometimes, in the heat of things, Dick forgot they were even there.

“I’ll be out of here in _three_.”

Someone snorted.

“Oh, look at that. He’s getting cocky,” He could hear the grin in Kent’s voice.

Opening the safe then was child’s play.

Dick was only mildly surprised to find a parcel of pictures, grouped together by expensive parchment and a bit of twine, but as he started flicking through them, his stomach threatened to drop out of his ass.

Dick recoiled in mortification. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck I am even looking at?”

The word to best describe these pictures was simply: debauchery.

The pictures almost seemed to visualize a fever dream: piles of powered drugs, pills, and caplets thrown carelessly over a table, young girls in mid-coitus, preforming sexual acts on each other and the men surrounding the table, and as Dick started recognizing them one by one, he was horrified to see some American faces amongst the bunch.

Rocketing out of his daze, Dick retrieved his phone out of his pocket, taking photos almost as fast as he could blink. He wouldn’t be able to capture them all, but then he didn’t need too, they were overflowing in abundance and even one of these photos would kick up a storm.

After taking a satisfying amount of pictures, Dick hurriedly put the photos back together in their parcel, not caring how neat they were as he shoved them back into the safe and closed it, fitting the wooden slab back into its slot.

He put the key back into the rectangular drawer and straightened his clothes.

“It’s done,” Dick said with finality, gathering his brief case. “Is Trent in position?”

“Affirmative. Lucas is waiting out front in a black Honda Civic. Another good job Grayson.”

With each step he took, Dick felt more and more confident, anxiety leaving him as he back tracked out of the building, even waving to the security guard who had checked him out earlier. Things were looking up. He could be home by tomorrow morning if they booked it to the airport fast enough.

Dick’s pace was brisk as he walked in a hurry over towards the Black Honda Civic Lucas was leaning against. The other man grinned as he saw him approach, throwing him the keys when he was close enough. Dick’s brow rose in question.

“Thought you’d want to drive,” Lucas said as explanation. “You’re a horrible backseat driver anyhow.”

Dick smirked, but didn’t argue as he strode over to the driver’s seat. “Only because you’re a horrible driver. Now get in the goddamn car, Trent.”

Lucas laughed, “You see what I mean, so bossy.”

Despite himself, Dick couldn’t help but laugh alongside him, still giddy from post-mission adrenaline. The mission wasn’t over by any means, but it had gone so well that Dick didn’t think to look around and check his surroundings.

That was his first mistake.

A loud, booming sound resonated through the air and no more than a second later, Lucas went stock still, eyes wide and confused before blood started spurting from his neck. His jugular was flowing freely, life’s blood pouring out of his body, unstoppable and frighteningly fast.

Lucas rose a hand as if to stop the blood, but it was too late. His blue eyes had gone glassy as he stumbled back away from the car in shock.

“Lucas!”

Dick reached for him out of pure instinct over the hood of the car, wanting to catch him from falling back, horrified and heartbroken, because despite all the shit he’d given Lucas over the years, he was genuinely a good person, and dare Dick say—a good friend.

But that was lost now, Lucas was done for and there was nothing he to do besides get out himself. Screams started sounding out around him, and Dick found himself in fight or flight mode as another shot rang out.

Dick jumped into the car then, eyes burning as he started the engine. He peeled off the curve like a bat out of hell and dread welled up inside of him as he took a peak at his rearview mirror, spotting a van following him and gaining speed.

Oh, it was _on_.

If they wanted a chase, Dick would lead them on the merriest one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annddd it's on like Donkey Kong.


	5. a liar's definition of dicey situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented on this story! You guys are so sweet and seeing you guys freak out about what happens next and anticipate it really makes me happy and keeps me going! I enjoy writing this story, so I'm glad you guys are enjoying reading it.
> 
> So here we are!!! The big reveal!

“Jesus fuck kid,” Jason began, hanging on for dear life to anything he could as the van weaved erratically through traffic. Lenny, that ass, was driving like he was playing Mario Kart and he was one lap away from crossing the finish line.

Blood—so much of it was going to stain the sidewalk a rusty red for weeks to come. The shot had gone wide and hit the…agent? Civilian? Random bystander near the car? Jesus, Jason was going to get so much shit for a shot he hadn’t even taken, but the kid— _Shaun_ —was under his supervision and therefore, whatever the little shit did, it reflected on Jason just as much.

He turned an accusing glare onto Shaun, whose eyes were wide, his hands braced uselessly on the walls of the van.

“Where did you even learn how to shoot? A fucking carnival water shooting range?” Jason snarled, lunging over the side of the seat, grabbing Shaun by the front of his shirt and bearing his teeth. “I specifically said: _do not shoot_ , not until I was sure of the situation, and you just went and did it anyway?”

Shaun seemed to remember himself then.

In his early 20’s and the shoo-in for future success within the agency, Shaun had out-shined his peers and impressed his instructors during his novice days. He was the rising star out of his whole training class, and that knowledge meant the kid had enough pride to rival Jason’s on a good day. It made working with him an absolute _pleasure_.

Despite not being too far apart in age, Jason felt decades older.

No doubt, this was karma paying Jason Todd a visit for all the grief and stress he’d caused his superiors, but hey—at least he could back the confidence up with skill.

Shaun puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders and Jason had to laugh it off in order not to punch him square in the face, because this scrappy fuck wasn’t as hot as he thought he was, and Jason was still very much in charge of this whole operation, no matter how fast it was unraveling.

Jason allowed Shaun to shake off his hand, reminding Jason a little bit of a cat that just had his tail stepped on.

“Believe or not, Todd, I have my own objectives that come from a power higher than _yours_.”

Jason rose a skeptical brow, unimpressed. “Oh really? And what would those objectives be? Creating a mass panic? Drawing attention to our little operation? Getting on my ever loving nerves?” The last rhetorical question came out particularly scornful and biting, highlighting Jason’s increasing irritation.

Shaun scoffed, “Oh, get over yourself Jason.”

Jason was tempted to tell Shaun no—that he wouldn’t be getting over himself anytime soon, _thank you very much_ —but refrained because he wasn’t a thirteen-year-old boy, and he had nothing to prove to a barely green novice who was way below his own pay grade.

Shaun cleared his throat, “When I met with the director, he was very… _clear_ in his briefing on how much he wanted a certain opposing agent taken out if it could be accomplished.” Shaun began. “There’s not much information on him, but I’m pretty sure the man that I shot could’ve been that agent.”

Jason answered back without pause, “Based on what conclusions?”

The confidence that Shaun had built in such a short amount of time immediately evaporated as his expression took on a look of uncertainty and his shoulders drooped slightly, averting his eyes away from Jason’s probing stare.

“It’s not entirely conclusive, we were a distance away…”

Jason snorted loudly, “Yeah, that’s what I thought kid. Don’t let the idea of a promotion make you stupid. Take it from me, promotions come from rational decision making and good results out in the field. You keep thinking the way you’re thinking about getting ahead, and they’ll get rid of you before you can ever prove yourself.”

Jason rammed his index finger into Shaun’s sternum, domineering and severe, demanding his undivided attention.

“Every agent is dispensable—don’t you forget that. Doesn’t matter how good you think you are. If you effect the agency in a bad way, they won’t hesitate to cut you off like a dead limb.”

It was brutal, but it was the complete truth. Jason had heard about agents disappearing, never to be heard from again. It was popular amongst the novices to tell their own versions of ghost stories as they gathered around and acted like boys their age for once. The chances were rare, but it didn’t eliminate you completely from experiencing the same fate as the rumored, unfortunate others.

The kid huffed, feathers ruffled, but didn’t say anything more. Jason gave him one last meaningful look before he turned his attention on more urgent matters.

Jason settled back into the passenger’s seat.

“Can’t we corner him somewhere? An alley? A dock? I don’t want to lose this guy.”

Despite being the pursuer in a high speed car chase, Lenny looked mostly at ease except for the slight downward furrow of his mouth.

He was Jason’s favorite to work with because he only talked when he needed too, and it was this quality about Lenny that Jason wished the rest of the world took into account. It was slightly hypocritical of Jason to think this, he ironically thought, with how he had decided to spend the rest of his life with a lovable chatterbox. Overall, there was just something about Lenny that calmed Jason during these high risk missions.

In another life, Lenny would’ve been a race car driver for sure. He handled the wheel with a smooth ease that was impressive to watch, and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat chasing down the Black Honda Civic.

Lenny only sparred Jason a quick look. “To do that I would have to anticipate where he’s going and drive him into a corner,” Lenny said matter of fact. “And to do _that_ , I would have to know these streets, and I don’t.”

Jason gave him a look, “Well shit man, that’s why you got me and dip-shit back there.” Jason gestured to Shaun vaguely with his thumb. He grinned wide when he saw Shaun flip him off in the rearview mirror.

“Shaun, get the drone to calculate intercept locations along parallel streets, we’re gonna try and ambush this bastard.”

* * *

 

Dick eyes were stinging—so bad, that it was hard to see past the blur of unshed tears.

He would’ve been scolded if anyone could’ve seen him.

Helena, on the other hand, she wouldn’t have said anything. Her heavy and prolonged silence would have been enough to let Dick know that he had screwed up. That he was always, on some level, screwing up.

While forming relationships was encouraged within his agency, showing overwhelming emotion when something happened to another fellow agent was highly frowned upon. The contradictory of it all rang especially hollow to Dick. They were supposed to be cold, emotionless, and machine-like tools according to an unspoken protocol, but Dick had never been that no matter how hard he had tried.

He thought of Helena again, of her pitying, dark brown eyes as she had once told him:

_“The heights you could reach Richard if you didn’t care so much…Your capacity to care is what’s going to get you killed in the end. It’s not going to be you making a mistake, or even you getting caught in a tight corner, it’s going to be because you simply care too much.”_

He let the tears roll down his face unashamedly, taking some comfort in defying Helena in the action. Dick wiped angrily at his face with brutal swipes because there was no time for it. The van was approaching quick and Dick needed an exit. The rendezvous point was still open for another 30 minutes and Dick had no desire to stay in Kiev any longer than necessary. He had officially worn out his welcome in this city.

“Michael! Kent! Are you still with me?” Dick shouted, only just realizing then that Michael and Kent had been yelling for _him_ the entire time and he hadn’t heard through the loud, static-like blaring in his own head.

Jesus, he needed to pull it together.

His partners said as much.

“Grayson, get your ass in gear!” Michael shouted. “Now we have visual on the van and the drone they have in the air that’s following you. We didn’t notice it earlier—sorry—and that’s how they were able to spot and tag you most likely. Unfortunately, drones are hard things to shake off, so you’re going to have to ditch the car and disappear. It’s too hot.”

Dick grit his teeth in frustration, eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror for the van.

After a dread filled moment, Dick asked, “Trent? Is he…?”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause that filled the silence.

It was enough of an answer, but still, Dick needed to hear it.

“…Yeah, it was a fatal hit. Even if we—there was nothing we could’ve done.” Kent said sympathetically enough, and Dick thanked him quietly for that small, human comfort.

Dick cleared his throat loudly, dislodging the golf ball sized lump in his throat that burned and refused to go away.

“Who _are_ these guys?” Dick said, just barely avoiding rear-ending a delivery truck.

 “I’m guessing FSB,” Kent began with a lift in his voice that was more speculative that anything. Dick could almost imagine his clueless shrug.

“Ties with the Russian and Ukrainian governments have always been close, even with the Ukraine’s newfound independence in ‘91. If there’s a big scandal, Russia’s most likely involved and they sent their boys, I’m guessing, to clean up their mess.”

Barking a humorless laugh, Dick checked the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, and each time he was surprised to find the van closer—or maybe it was just his panic making things closer than they were. Either way, he needed to lose them, and fast.

Dick raked his brain for several possible solutions, going by process of elimination at the options that didn’t suit his tastes, or that left too much room for variables that he couldn’t control or account for, and would inevitably get him killed. It only took twenty seconds to come up with a plan.

“Is there a parking garage somewhere around here? Not too busy, but busy enough? Kind of away from the bustle of the city, but not too far? Can you guys find that for me?”

Michael snorted, “Yeah, that’s not _too_ specific _at all_ , Grayson.”

“Can you find me one or not Michael?” Dick snapped. “Smart-ass comments aside.”

There was a pause, the sound of keys erratically clicking were distantly heard.

“1000 feet and you’re going to take a sharp left. There’s a parking garage a couple of blocks away that’s the closest to you. You can still make the drop point if you lose them, otherwise we’re all staying in Kiev until further notice.”

Kent spoke up then, a soothing balm to a tense situation. “Let’s make that our last possible option gentlemen, alright? The food in this country is absolutely bizarre, yeah? I’m missing French toast and pancakes like a bitch.”

Dick snickered, noticing he was coming up on that turn and sped up, ready to slingshot it onto that next street. The engine roared, his adrenaline spiked, and Dick was hyper aware of the gun holstered to his side, and the irrevocable fact that Lucas Trent was dead, lying on a street in a puddle of his own blood, alone and just as quickly forgotten.

“That’s the plan,” Dick said. “Now watch me work.”

* * *

 

Lenny was good, but he wasn’t good enough to make it unscathed through oncoming traffic.

Both Jason and Lenny cursed as they missed the connection, and Jason whipped his head back as if he’d be able to see the black little Honda civic careen it down the narrower street.

“How’s it coming with those other options, kid?” Jason asked Shaun. “Give us a street we can meet him at, c’mon.” Jason rushed.

Shaun bit at his lip, eyes roaming over the computer screen. “Not this up and coming one, but the next street, turn on it. There’s more potential points of connection and the street he’s on right now doesn’t have many evasion points of escape.”

Jason brow rose, skeptical. “Do you think he knew that?”

Shaun shrugged like it didn’t matter, but he was missing the overall bigger picture. This guy, whoever he was, had a team that was guiding him, and the last thing they wanted was for their own agent to be without any options if it came down to the worse.

“He’s spooked and took the first chance he got to lose us. I can’t see how it matters.” Shaun said, horrifically naïve.

Jason scoffed, clicking his teeth in disapproval. “All of it matters, kid, right down to whether or not I took a shit this morning. Pay attention for the littlest thing, you should always be on guard.”

Shaun looked like he wanted to argue, his brows furrowing, but then Lenny was turning with screeching tires down the street, jostling all three of them in a wide arc. Jason’s side hit the window hard, knocking the air out of his lungs with a wheeze. He shot a sharp look to Lenny who was staring ahead non-pulsed, the bastard was even _whistling_.

“Sorry to interrupt this tender father-son moment, but I need to know where to go. Shaun, where’s he heading to?” Lenny interjected, the tone of his voice a calm, cool thing and Jason wondered how he did it, and what it would take to see him lose his constant cool.

Car honks and screams alike, both outraged and fearful, followed them down the quaint street. It was narrower and winding, the van bouncing through the tight fit, but Lenny made traversing over the cobblestoned street look incredibly easy.

“He’s still on the same road, heading east. Going fast too.” Shaun replied.

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Him going fast was to be expected and sure as hell wasn’t news.

On the other hand, _they_ were slowing. Delivery trucks and old, 90’s modeled cars clipped at the van’s sides, and each time it happened the van lost speed, which accounted for time.

Jason was determined about not losing this guy. There was just something about it…maybe it was the fact that Jason hadn’t been in the field in what felt like forever, but it was undeniable that the overall chase was getting to him on a primal, instinctual level and he was hard pressed about letting go. Very rarely was he ever allowed to explore this darker, untamed nature of his, and it felt like coming back home after a long, tiring trip.

Lenny had to be stomping on the gas pedal. The man wasn’t stopping for anyone or anything, managing to make it to a side street that was even thinner than the last, but free of any kind of activity as he reeved it.

Shaun directed them this way and that, and Jason saw no sign of the Civic or any of the chaos it might have left behind in its wake. Jason’s teeth clenched in frustration, back molars trying to grind into dust, forgetting completely about the drone in the air.

“Kid, what’s the drone got?” Jason asked, narrowing his eyes, looking for any kind of anomaly that didn’t sit right with him along the sidewalks and streets, as if he’d be better to spot it than some computerized android specially made for such a thing.

Shaun was quiet, observing whatever was on that screen as his hand made little minuscule movements on the joy stick controlling the drone. Jason watched him in the rearview, patient but highly awaiting. They didn’t have time for guessing games.

“The Civic just entered a parking garage in the third district—it’s not too far, but I’ve lost visual.”

The drone was useless then and Shaun new as much as he pulled the headphones from around his neck and slammed the laptop closed, setting it off somewhere towards the side. Shaun guided Lenny from memory the rest of the way, and they slowed as they neared the parking garage, cautious.

There were five floors to the garage, Jason counted, knowing that their guy was located on one of them. They hadn’t arrived too late to give whoever they were hunting a big enough head start, so Jason didn’t worry too much. Another positive was that the garage also wasn’t connected to another building, so routes of escape were highly limited.

Jason found himself grinning as they approached the entrance gate into the garage, watching as the shadow from the over pass elongated until they were engulfed in obscurity and bathed the dim glow of flickering orange lights.

Rolling down the window, Lenny pressed the green button that processed a ticket the size of a square and bit it between perfectly straight teeth, as he began rolling the window up. He turned his head, regarding Jason.

“We splitting up, boss?” He asked.

Jason thought about it, shifting in his seat.

While the option of splitting up would allow them to search the place with a fine tooth comb, if they were all on foot while the agent made a speedy get-away that would be humiliating, and the constant shit they’d hear from everyone back at HQ would never end. Jason only thought about it for a second more and decided.

“Yeah, I’ll get out here and comb the first two floors.” Jason began, already reaching for the door handle, feeling over his side to make sure his gun was still there. “Shaun, you take three and four, and Lenny I’ll be nice and let you have the roof since you drove us here and all. If you find the car, be cautious and radio me.” The com in his ear had been off, but fizzled with static activity as it came to life. Jason smirked boyishly as he hopped out of the van, and urged them on with a hardy pad to the hood.

He turned slowly after watching the van ascend towards the second floor, disappearing entirely. The garage was quiet, save for the sounds of traffic outside: a car whizzing by, some distant car honk streets away, and birds chirping.

Jason’s hand hovered over his gun as he walked around with muted steps, eyes flickering this way and that for any kind of movement. He paid close attention to the cars already parked, making sure not to walk too close, but close enough. The first floor was clear and he said as much over the com link, climbing the stairs towards the second floor with heavy steps.

“Third floor is clear, no sign of the car.” Shaun said, voice tinny in Jason’s ear.

The second floor seemed to yield pretty much the same kind of disappointing results. There were few spaced out cars, no obvious signs of a forced entry like glass littered over the concrete to show that the agent had taken another car into his possession. The chances that they were going to find this guy was steadily growing thinner like sand in the middle of an hourglass.

Jason heaved a great, tiring breath, scrubbing a hand over his chin as he feared the worst. The outcome of things looked incredibly bleak until Jason rounded the corner and found himself smack dab, right in sight of the four door, black Honda Civic that had given him a run for his money and then some.

It was parked innocently, perfectly lined between the yellow lines as if the driver hadn’t been in a rush at all.

Jason knew better.

“Located the vehicle on the second floor—wait for possible further instructions.” Jason muttered, hand traveling back towards his gun and pulling it out of the holster as he slowly approached the side of the car, heartbeat thudding inside his chest. He could count each steady beat, a tactic that kept him focused and alert.

Sometimes, agents had to use the measure of heartbeats in replace of time. Sometimes, it was all they had in long periods of captivity, that strong sounding thump to keep them tethered to sanity.

Jason switched easily into cold killer mode, his focus singular and purposeful, his mind on one track. He pulled his gun fast when he approached the backseat, a more likely hiding spot to lay down and catch whoever by surprise. Jason allowed himself to breathe when he found no one in either the back or front seat. He walked around the other side of the car, found nothing, and after a moment, Jason lowed his gun and grit his teeth.

“We fucking lost him,” Jason cursed over the com, looking around desperately, hoping to see some kind of figure cut into his line of sight, but there was none.

“Report.” Jason demanded.

“Nothing on the roof.” Lenny answered back.

“Fourth floor is clear.” Shaun said, defeat and disappointment clear in his tone.

“ _Fuck_.”

It had been a long time since Jason actually failed at a mission. Years in fact, thinking about it now. He was known for his reputation at getting the job done, no matter how difficult the situation he was put in. The fact that he’d failed at something so utterly simple made the sting of it all the worse. Six months off the field and he was already losing his touch? What the fuck?

Jason sighed, kicking at the wall. “Lenny, come back down. This mission is a fucking bust.”

The atmosphere inside the van was somber as Jason climbed in, slamming the door behind himself because he needed to let his aggression out somehow, and it seemed better than smashing his goddamn fist through the window just to hear it shatter.

“Goddamn it,” Jason whispered under his breath.

It was an indulgent moment of frustration that spoke for everyone in the van, and Jason had to remind himself that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to lose.

Quietly, they rounded the corner, rolling up to the automated machines to pay for their entry. Lenny inserted a card and Jason sulked off as the bright yellow beam rose, allowing them to pass.

Jason had a moment of deja-vu as the shadow of the garage receded this time around, drawing them out into the sunlight. It was a weird thing to notice, but something prickled at the back of Jason mind that he couldn’t ignore. He tensed slightly, on alert, not liking the eerie feeling.

“Jason, you know—”

The driver’s window then shattered in a loud, explosive bang, and glass flew at Jason, who covered his face from the shards with his forearms instinctually.

That had been a gunshot, Jason thought, there was no doubt. Blood and brain matter decorated the windshield in a red, dreadful arc, and Lenny head lolled to the side, the blown out bits of his head hidden from Jason’s eyes, thankfully.

The smell of gun powder wafted in Jason’s nose, and he found, right then and there, the irony of this very moment.

Instead of doing the ambushing like he’d originally planned, this agent—this _guy_ —had waited to ambush _them_ and it had fucking _worked_.

Ambushed as they were, Jason wasn’t going out without a fight.

He’d go to hell kicking and screaming before he’d ever lay down for it.

* * *

 

Climbing down the second story of the parking garage with leather loafers hadn’t been the hard part, Dick thought. It had been the waiting, the utter isolation with his thoughts turning and tumbling, growing dark like a storm cloud. The gun was a heavy presence in his hand, but so incredibly welcome.

The driver hadn’t known what had hit him.

Dick knew the smart idea was to leave—that he should’ve been happy that he’d managed to get away safely from his pursuers with the information he’d acquired on his phone, but Lucas’s wide eyed look as he’d clutched at his neck, blood quickly seeping through his fingers, would haunt Dick for the rest of his life. He’d have nightmares about what they did to him, and _someone_ —goddamn it—needed to pay.

The next man came careening out of the van, sliding the door open. He was blonde and rather thin, gun in hand, and Dick shot him in his chest twice before he could even raise it towards him. He went down wide eyed and shocked.

Two down, one more to go, Dick thought with a calm and quiet intensity.

The passenger’s seat was vacated, door thrown wide open, and Dick backed up a couple of steps, crouching slowly and cautiously to see the shadow on the other side of the van as it moved steadily towards the back, and Dick followed, steps soft and sure footed.

All too soon, he was at the end, ready to face the last attacker head-on and held his breath as he stepped out of the van’s shadow and met—

Dick couldn’t help but freeze in shock despite the gun pointed at him—despite all of his years of training and his instructor’s beating it into him to never be taken off guard, especially with a goddamn gun pointed right between your eyes.

But he was—oh god was he.

For a moment, Dick thought he’d made the most foolish mistake, that his eyes had played a cruel trick on him, and that he’d find the inner contents of his brain splattered on the sidewalk because of his misguided hesitation.

But the man who looked scarily like Dylan Thomas didn’t move. Didn’t budge an inch. He just stood absolutely still like Medusa herself had come from the depths of hell herself to set her sights on him, turning him into stone.

The man’s eyes were wide and also the same mottled mix of blue and green as Dylan’s, Dick noticed with rising horror and panic.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Dick knew this face—this _man_ —knew him intimately and very well.

Dick’s lips parted, trying to find words that wouldn’t come. He continued to stare and stare and stare, as if trying to will away the image because this was just too _cruel_.

“ _Dylan_?” Dick croaked, feeling bile rise up in this throat, burning his esophagus as he tried not to dry heave.

Dylan—the man who looked like him—inhaled sharply and almost dropped his gun, flinching like he’d been slapped particularly hard by an invisible force. He was shaking his head slowly as his gun shook in his grip. Dylan lowered his gun then finally, a slow dissention, due to the fact he was most likely in shock.

Dick continued to watch him—couldn’t help it—seeing new expressions he’d never witnessed before passing over Dylan’s face, utterly foreign and fascinating.

_He’s…he’s a goddamn…I fucking…I was going to marry…_

These thoughts and similar ones bounced around in Dick’s head, loud and frantic—utterly heartbroken. He started to back away from the ruined van and Dylan did the same too before they shared one last look and turned, running tail in opposite directions.

Dick tried to run away from the truth, but found that it outran him at every corner he took.

* * *

 

Jason sat in the office of the agency’s director, a man with more credentials under his blood soaked belt than any person Jason knew.

Right now, Philip Lvov was staring down at Jason despite being shorter than him, an unpleased and disapproving tilt to his thin mouth. Jason couldn’t find it in himself to care that his boss, a very high ranking official with complete power over Jason’s future, was currently displeased with him.

The old man could suck it for all he cared.

He’d had one fucking _hell_ of a day.

Jason felt numb to put it plainly, something akin to shell-shocked at the revelation of a lifetime—that his fiancée, fucking husband to-be, was also a secret agent for the Americans. That the man he’d been chasing had been Adam _—his Adam_.

There was no doubt. From the too-blue eyes, to the plush of his gorgeous mouth, to how his strong aura of killing intent completely vanished when he’d seen Jason emerge from behind the van.

 _Fuck_ , Jason didn’t know whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry.

“You let him escape,” Lvov said matter of fact, hands clasped on the top of his desk, fingers intertwined. “Instead of shooting him and completing your mission objective, you made moon eyes at him after he killed two of our best, and let him escape.”

Jason reacted to that, head snapping up, latching onto that implication with vitriol and venom.

“Did you know?” Jason demanded, snarling, fingers squeezing around the armrests so he wouldn’t do something stupid with them, like throw Lvov’s stupid picture of his wife at his fucking face, or launch himself over his desk so he could circle his hands around that throat.

“Did you know that he was an agent working for another _goddamn agency_ the whole time—just allowing me to get close to him for shits and giggles?”

_Allowing him to get close to me…in ways no one ever has…only to find out it was just some big fucking lie?_

Jason wanted to scream his thoughts, but he didn’t. He knew better than to show how close he’d gotten to this particular cover—to this particular man.

Lvov didn’t answer right away, which was automatically telling. The armrests creaked.

“We didn’t know right away, but after looking into it, we found out shortly after.”

Jason looked at Lvov incredulous, feeling like he was the butt of a cosmic joke and the universe was just now landing the punchline.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that my fake husband to-be was a goddamn spy?” Jason roared.

Lvov looked unimpressed, like Jason was his petulant child, waiting for his tantrum to be over before he continued talking again.

“As long as the both of you never found out, we wanted to watch how it progressed, see if your relationship could be beneficial towards the agency in anyway, but your cover has been blown Jason, and it is time to take you out. We have no need for Dylan Thomas, the American bike maker anymore.”

Jason could only stare, dumbfounded, feeling utterly used in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d been a kid in the Moscow slums, trying to survive.

He started laughing, ugly and low. It was the only thing he could do to keep the emotions at bay. “So, what now? I’m just going to be moved? Leave everything I built there behind?”

Lvov looked at him like the answer was as obvious as the sun in the sky. “Of course,” He began. “But before that, you’re going to kill that agent and tie up any loose ends you have there.”

Jason didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare look away, or do anything that could give him away.

He thought of Adam, thought of Anita.

Lvov was watching him closely with those dull gray eyes, gauging him for a reaction Jason wouldn’t give willingly. It was quiet as they watched each other, the silence speaking for both of them.

Jason slowly nodded, “Okay.” He said. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Lvov hummed deep in his throat, pleased. He placed a manila folder on his desk and slid it over to Jason with his hand. A picture of Adam, paper clipped to the front stared back at him, unfamiliar and odd, making Jason’s stomach twist. Jason eyed the photo for only for a moment before lifting his gaze to Lvov once again.

“Your future is bright here Jason, let the light lead you back home and don’t allow to be led astray. Remember the ones who found you, who cared for you, and took you in when no one else wanted too. Allow us to take care of you again, товарищ.”


	6. a liar's a cheater, a deceiver, a heart breaker...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter because I didn't want to cut it off during Jason and Dick's reunion and have the momentum be thrown to bits. As a reader, I hate that! So here we are! The calm (or sorta kinda) before the storm. The next chapter will finally be their confrontation, but before that I had to let the news settle in and I wanted to show Dick's reaction to the news.
> 
> Furthermore, thank you for all the positive feedback! I was both delighted and shocked by the response of the last chapter. I'm glad you guys liked it! Anyways, comments are my life's blood, and leaving them makes me feel wonderful.
> 
> Hopefully, you won't have to wait long for the next chapter :)
> 
> Thanks again!

The steady click clack of Helena’s heels echoed down through the hallway. Try as he might, Dick couldn’t help how his body tensed up at the distant sound of her voice—light and lulling—but there was a clear, cold detachment that seemed to reside underneath.

A single, radiant flower in a field, poisonous to the touch, Dick thought.

Half-heartedly, Dick listened in on their hushed conversation outside the door, not finding it in himself to care enough that Helena and another superior officer of his were talking about him, discussing how bad he’d screwed up in Kiev. It had been a shock to most people since Dick was one of the agencies very best, so the buzz of the horrid mission spread like high school gossip through the halls.

He should’ve cared—he should’ve been more nervous, but Dick was simply numb.

More accurately, he was in shock. Plain and simple.

A metaphorical rug had been pulled out from under his feet and Dick was just now starting to feel the bruising on his backside from where he had fallen hard.

 _Dylan Thomas_ , Dick thought over and over again, an obsessed, repetitive chant. The mania was spreading like a virus. It was inescapable.

Twelve letters, four syllables, and the supposed identity of a man Dick had unknowingly spent several years with, without knowing what— _who_ was right under his nose the entire time.

 _God_ , he had slept soundlessly right next to the man in their shared bed for _years_. Just thinking of it sent shivers down his spine. Dick had also done other things in that bed with that man…activities that made him flush with utter mortification and bristle with barely held back contempt, because what if Dylan had known about him the entire time? What if he’d been making fun of Dick with every touch? With every declaration of love spoken softly on his skin? With every appreciative look and adoring brush of his fingertips?

Dick shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the intrusive, unhelpful thoughts. He couldn’t handle that—he _wouldn’t_ be able too if that was the truth.

Just as suddenly, Dick wondered if Helena had known, and the dread that rose up was so thick it almost choked him.

Is that why she had always been so interested in his relationship? Was he being played? Set-up? Just what the fuck was going on?

Dick felt like he was losing his mind, and he tried uselessly grasping onto one sane thought at a time, but it was futile. His head was going a mile a minute. It was like trying to catch the wind.

Helena decided to walk into her office then, murmuring a polite goodbye to whoever she had been talking to as the door clicked shut. The sound was finalizing, a precursor to his doom Dick supposed, because nothing about this meeting—this _talk_ they were about to have—was going to be good.

Helena was quiet as she walked towards her desk, setting several files on top of the dark mahogany wood. Dick just watched her, tight-lipped and eerily focused on Helena’s face—her expressions—watching for the faintest quirk of her brow or curve of her upper lip—looking for _anything_ that would tell him the truth.

He was in dire need of it right about now. He felt cornered, like the walls were steadily closing in and there were no allies in sight. He was utterly alone in this.

Helena regarded Dick for a moment, taking in his messy, flax hair and disheveled suit, blood splatter standing out clearly on the pristine white of his dress shirt, and Dick hoped Helena was unnerved by it. Dick refused to change out of his suit when offered a clean set of clothes, like Lucas’s memory would somehow disappear from this world without this last reminder of him, no matter how horrible it was.

Helena blinked once, slow and calculating.

“You’ve had quite the day,” Helena began, somber.

She sat in her plush chair with a heavy, tired breath, fingers intertwining only to unlace after finding the position of her fingers somehow unsatisfactory. She fiddled with a ring on her finger, turning it over and over again.

“We will have a service tomorrow for Lucas, you’re encouraged to come...I think it might help.” Helena didn’t say what it would help, so the suggestion drifted into a prolonged pause.

“His own body will be sent back to his close relatives to be buried.”

Dick flinched, breathing in a sharp breath as he rubbed over his stinging eyes.

“Was he…? Did he have someone?” Lucas had never talked about his life outside of the agency. Despite how chatty and outgoing Lucas was, he was uncharacteristically secretive about how he had lived his life in the civilian world. Dick had never associated Lucas with relatives, with people who had _really_ known and loved him, as foolish as that sounded.

Helena paused again, weighing her words, mouth purging and it looked like she was debating with herself whether or not it would be beneficial to divulge that information.

“Lucas was married. No kids. A dog.”

Dick’s heart gave a rough pull and he cleared his throat roughly. He raked a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at the roots as he nodded in understanding, staring at Helena but not truly seeing her.

“Richard,” Helena said, and it was the particular tone of her voice, cautious yet casual, that filled Dick’s being with the upmost apprehension. He wanted to curl up into a ball and collapse on himself until there was nothing left.

Realistically, he’d probably punch a wall or two, or trash his own small office to vent his frustrations, but that method of release wasn’t available yet. He would just have to wait until he could get hammered and forget how utterly fucked his life had just become.

“I’m going to be honest with you Richard, the agency—the director—was not pleased in the slightest with your performance in Kiev. Your cover has been blown, that is undeniable, but they want answers as to why you lowered your weapon when the target was clearly in sight. They are concerned about…where your loyalties lie, first and foremost.”

Dick huffed a humorless laugh, hopeless, sinking deeper into his seat.

Well fuck, that just answered his question now didn’t it?

He rubbed the pads of his fingers over the closed lids of his eyes, unbelievably tired and aspirated, emotionally and physically. Every part of him seemed to be aching.

“The situation at the moment Richard is very fragile,” Helena warned, dark eyes narrowing at how aloof Dick was behaving, how nonchalant. It irritated her—always had—not being held in the upmost highest of esteem. Dick couldn’t be bothered with Helena’s fragile ego at the moment.

“I suggest you take this seriously and straighten up, your future depends on it.”

Dick knew it wasn’t really a threat, but his nerves were unbelievably frayed, so when he heard Helena’s words Dick reared up, upper lip caught in an ugly snarl as his butt flirted with the edge of the seat. He leaned in close, menacing, to Helena sitting a safe distance away in her seat.

“You know what Helena--I think I’m doing a pretty fucking bang-up job keeping my shit together in response to all the little enlightening revelations I’ve had today.” His voice was rising with every word, spittle flying from his lips as he started shouting, anger burning furiously bright in his too-blue eyes. It was like word-vomit—once he got going, Dick couldn’t stop.

“You can take that conniving attitude—that holier-than-thou bullshit you feed off of—and shove it right up your ass for all I give.” Dick’s eyes narrowed and his voice became colder.

“ _Fuck you_ , and fuck any motherfucker in this miserable piece of shit who knew about _him_ and didn’t think to tell me.” Dick spit _him_ , like a curse, not daring to say his name. Not anymore. He was breathing hard by the end of the rant, feeling a bit better about his troubles, but not by much.

Helena took a moment, mostly unfazed by the outburst and Dick wondered what it would take to truly rattle Helena’s cage. If he couldn’t do it, Dick hoped someone in the world had the talent of getting under her skin.

“I didn’t know.” Helena began, uncharacteristically soft and genuine and Dick jolted in surprise, looking up at her with wide eyes that narrowed with skepticism just as quick. He had to remind himself that every word was both part a lie and the truth. That’s what made it so convincing and effective. Helena gave just enough of the truth to sell it completely, that’s why it worked so well.

“I had suspicions he was strangely important, for some reason or another.” Helena quickly explained, looking down at her hands with a considering expression— _thoughtful_.

“The director always held a very peculiar interest in your op and how it was progressing over time. More so than anyone else. He’d inquire about it every few months or so, asking questions that I didn’t see the point of until I started reaching my own conclusions. I found out he worked for the FSB just before you did, Dick. I promise.”

Dick just shook his head, hand running over his mouth. “Your promises mean very little to me at this point Helena. You wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t found out like how I did.” Dick found himself smiling bitterly. “You try and be my friend—you try so fucking hard—but you’re just like them at the core.”

Helena stared at him, her expression completely indiscernible, eyes shuttered somewhere faraway.

Dick’s bitter smile turned cruel and petty fast.

“You know; I keep thinking even if it was fake least I had it. I had a good thing going for those few years, but you…I don’t think you’re capable of caring for anyone other than yourself.”

“You’re cold Helena, at the very core of you. You know it, I’ve _always_ known it, and I think you’re fascinated by how hot I run. I think you want someone to balance out that cold because it gets lonely, and you can’t help but wonder, but let me tell you this Helena—”

Dick slammed his hands onto the wooden desk, getting right into Helena’s face, breath hot, eyes wild.

“No one is going to be there to love you. Least of all me.”

* * *

 

Coming back home, for better lack of word, was incredibly surreal.

Jason’s whole body felt itchy and tight, like his skin was stretching out over muscle and bones, the feeling incredibly discomforting.

Driving down the familiar streets, Jason felt even more like an outsider to this quant suburban community having learned the truth. The city he’d called home for the past several years felt spoiled like milk, finally passing its expiration date.

An era was coming to its end. It was time to pack up and move on, all of course while taking care of pesky loose ends…

The ride to the _Auto Haus_ was quiet and introspective, the radio stayed off the entire trip from leaving the airport to arriving at his shop.

Jason had opened the glove box compartment first thing, unsurprised to see his wallet was still where he had placed it before boarding his flight. He took a moment to grab for it as if the craftily made black leather block would take his hand off if he touched it.

Recognizing he was being an utter wimp for delaying the inevitable, Jason snatched at his wallet, opening it up to a single, neatly folded photo booth picture reel of Adam—nope, not Adam— _Richard_ , Jason had to begrudgingly remind himself. They were cuddled close together, faces in over exaggerated plays of emotion for each picture snapped.

Jason had regarded those photos with a quiet blank calm before a feeling akin to grief swelled deep in Jason’s bones. Suddenly, it was all too much.

He _had_ loved this man despite all of his previous doubts—loved and cherished him more than anything or anyone he’d ever had, and the betrayal of it all—the _cruelty_ —stung so painfully, all-encompassing and so bright that it took his breath away, only to come back ragged and halved.

The longer Jason thought on it, the more fucked up the situation became, because the man he’d fallen in love with hadn’t even existed in the first place. Jason basically loved a goddamn ghost.

The grief steadily morphed itself into rage over having been played in such a personally intimate way. Jason easily threw the pictures out the window with an upbeat whistle, suddenly aching for a smoke, and then regretted not setting the photo booth reel on fire.

Good riddance, Jason thought, an incredibly bitter taste still present in his mouth.

He pulled over to get gas and a pack of his favorite Marlboro’s. While he pumped the car full of gas, Jason thought of all the things he’d learned on the plane ride about Richard Grayson, the manila folder spilling with all of the other man’s most well kept secrets.

The only thing that bastard _hadn’t_ lied about was his goddamn nationality, and the rest was, well…

Jason scowled at nothing in particular, earning a confused look from the guy on the other side of the pump who looked away from Jason quickly.

Richard John Grayson was four years older than him, born in New York, his birthday in March rather than December, and he’d lived the majority of his life in an orphanage until he was fourteen, only to be passed around to three different foster homes before graduating high school at eighteen.

Little, scribbled notes told a story of a righteous temper, a reckless, but well-meaning heroic streak, and a penchant for getting himself into sticky situations, being the obvious adrenaline junkie he was. If Jason found himself smiling at some of the referrals he’d raked up in high school, he ferociously denied it and immediately smothered the feelings of fondness with enough anger and thoughts of deception to hate the man all over again.

Various recommendation letters all praised Richard as being an upstanding gentleman, citing that, whoever was considering hiring Richard, would be lucky enough to have _him_.

Jason had scoffed and rolled his eyes. He had skipped over the rest, tiring of reading people kiss ass when all Jason wanted to do was kick it.

Miraculously, despite the odds, Richard had managed to go to college, and somehow attracted the attention of the goddamn CIA as a potential candidate to join the ever elusive agency. He was one of their best, just like Jason. Richard’s stats were impressively high and Jason huffed childishly as he compared his own, but there were several notes, written like after thoughts, that led Jason to believe Richard was far from perfect. There was that comfort at least. Jason tried not to analyze it too much, or give it too much thought. He was just doing basic research. An advantage over the enemy, he told himself.

Jason drove with a perpetually darkening storm cloud hanging over his head, already on his second cigarette. He’d started smoking the first one as soon as he headed out of the store.

He smelled like ashes.

Fitting, Jason thought with a dry laugh.

There was an unrecognizable car in the parking lot of the _Auto Haus_ when Jason rounded the corner and pulled into the lot. His eyes narrowed down in suspicion at a beat up 2002 Dodge Neon parked half-assed in his designated spot. The passenger’s side door was caved in Jason noticed, and he parked a safe space away from it, brow furrowing at the two young men loitering at the front door of his shop.

They regarded Jason getting out of his car with haughty tilts of their heads and greasy smiles, immediately rubbing Jason the wrong way.

Jason’s mouth thinned, displeased, as he pulled at his cigarette, the thump of his boots was heavy over the concrete as he slowly made his way over towards them.

Jason knew who these two shit heads were, and who they were here for. It was unmistakable and obvious.

Jason had only ever heard about them in association with Anita telling him her story over a late night cup of coffee, and over-hearing enough conversations where she always seemed to bring up two names: _Rico and Charles_.

They were the smarmy fucks who kept harassing Anita and her mother for money they thought they were still due. The ones who had killed Juan, Anita’s older brother, and left a gaping hole so big that it was amazing it was trying to heal at all. And it wouldn’t—not as long as these two were still allowed to gallivant around, throwing their weight and power on top of the helpless who couldn’t help but be crushed underneath it all.

Jason felt his blood boil at their audacity. The fact they’d come here, into _his_ space.

It helped matters that Jason was looking for just about any excuse to fight and let out all of his pent up aggravation. Jason would’ve been slightly ashamed by how quick he’d seemed to revert back into his old ways, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a single fuck. He was aching to smash his fist into something and watch it break or bleed.

Old habits die hard, Jason supposed.

“Can I help you boys, we’re closed.” Jason said, stopping about two feet away. His eyes raked the two men up and down separately, committing them to memory, knowing if he didn’t today, he’d kill them sometime later on. He had no good reason not too—he’d be leaving soon enough anyways. It would be a nice parting gift to Anita, a goodbye and an apology both.

Something like: _Sorry for ditching out without a word_ , _oh and_ _I’m totally fine by the way_.

The tall one with shrewd eyes scoffed lightly, puffing out his chest and shifting his weight in a show demonstrating his higher masculinity, or whatever the fuck normal people did who could bark up a storm, but never land a bite.

“You the owner or somethin’?” There was a hint of challenge in that, like they weren’t expecting the owner to look like someone like Jason—young, and by all means, a punk.

Jason huffed a laugh.

“Ding, ding,” Jason said dryly, imitating those game show buzzers that ringed whenever someone got a trivia question right. “That would be me—the _owner_.” Jason emphasized, implying they were slow. “How can I help you boys? My shop is currently closed.” He repeated.

The smaller of the two, a blond with a garish mohawk finally spoke then. He leaned in close to Jason, scrutinizing him. His eyes were tinted red, breath carrying the pungent scent of weed, and that only made Jason frown deeper.

“Oh,” The guy with the Mohawk began, smiling nastily up at Jason. “So _you’re_ Anita’s sugar daddy, huh? And here I was thinking she was banging some old white dude to get all that cash she’s been coming into, but you’re not half bad looking, _wedo_.” Blond Mohawk laughed, nasally and mean.

“That pussy must be bombing, paying her like that…hmm makes a man wonder, you know?” Charles and Rico both laughed at that unsubtle implication and what it meant. A vein inside Jason’s neck twitched as well as two of his fingers holding his cigarette between his lips. He had an urge to put it out in the guy’s eyeball and rub it in until all the vitreous humor, transparent and jelly-like, oozed out.

To this day, any threat spoken against a woman reminded Jason of his mother, fragile and sickly thin. Despite all of her faults and short-comings, Jason had loved that woman with a burning ferocity ranging from adoring to violent. He would’ve killed any son-of-a-bitch who dared to threaten one hair on her head.

It was a miniscule movement, unnoticeable to anyone not trained to recognize such small details, but the impending threat was there like a flashing red light. His fingers were itching for either a sharp knife, a gun, or a throat to tightly wrap his hands around. Jason was more in the mood for the third option honestly. These guys were just begging for it.

Jason didn’t bother denying the sexual implication between Anita and himself. The effort would be a wasted one. They’d make it about sex whether it actually was or not. Jason would just be wasting his breath.

He breathed out slow, eyes cutting into the shorter one.

“You guys just don’t seem to get it, so I’ll ask one more time, even slower for those in the back,” Jason’s eyes shot to the taller of the two. “What. Are. You. Doing. On. My. Property?”

Shrewd Eyes sucked sharply at his lower lip, dark eyes narrowing. There was a piercing in his eyebrow.

“I’d watch that tone if I were you, _wedo_. We live close by, basically neighbors, yeah.”

Good, Jason thought grimly. I won’t have to drive far to put a bullet in your goddamn nutsack, fucker.

Blond Mohawk—Charles? Rico?—just brushed Shrewd Eyes off, shrugging in a way that was trying to be boyish and charming, but it only came off as sleazy.

“Just here to see an old friend—Anita our girl, like a little sister to us really. Took care of her during some tough times, you know? And the thanks we get—fucking nada. No thank you, no nothing.”

Jason snorted, then inhaled another drag. He shook his head.

“Oh yeah, I just bet. A couple of fine, upstanding gentlemen like yourselves...” Jason said sarcastically.

Blond Mohawk smiled brightly, “You fucking betcha.”

Jason rolled his eyes, pressing past the two, getting his keys from out of his back pocket. He looked over his shoulder, pinning them with a stare that he knew unnerved most grown military men, and these two were only street punks.

While Jason would’ve loved to egg them on further, he was only prolonging the inevitable. He’d have to go home eventually, and before he did that he needed to stock up on some weapons to make himself feel better for the utter shit storm that was coming up ahead. Stalling over this distraction, no matter how good it would make him feel, wasn’t going to do him any favors in the long run.

“This will be the only warning I give you miserable assholes, so listen the fuck up,” Jason began, pointing his finger and looking at each of them in the eye.

“Leave Anita and her mother alone or me calling the cops over you loitering around my shop while it’s closed will be the least of your goddamn problems.” He jerked his head, upper lip pulling in an expression of pure distaste. “Now go. I’ve seen enough of your ugly mugs to last me a life time.”

He unlocked his shop and stepped inside, not bothering to look back as the door clicked shut and locked automatically again.

Jason made his way back towards the garage, moving a shelf where a small arsenal of knifes, guns, and ammo secretly hid amongst Jason’s ordinary things. The contrast was startling, but satisfying in a sense. Two parts of his double life merging, an invisible weight easing from his shoulders bit by bit. The sensation felt like freedom and liberation after hiding for so long.

He grinned, and for the first time today, the delighted curve of his mouth was welcome.

Richard Grayson was waiting, and it would be rude of Jason to keep him long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word _wedo_ is derogatory Spanish slang meaning "white boy".
> 
> PS. Just wanna put it out there that I love Helena Bertinelli. She's just...not a nice lady in this verse, okay?


	7. a liar's shot in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatly anticipated reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mannn.
> 
> Guys so sorry. I've had a good majority of this chapter written for months but really didn't touch it until about two weeks ago. Life happens and I've got other things on my mind, but I really wanted to get this chapter up since I know it's what everyone has been waiting for.
> 
> Again thanks so much to those who have kindly commented. I dedicate this to you.
> 
> Any errors are my own!

The sun had long set by the time Jason turned onto the familiar street of Vista Drive.

The usually noisy roads of Quarry Heights loomed menacingly in their stillness, void of what had made Jason so attracted to the neighborhood in the first place. He cautiously eyed the neatly lined rows of charming houses that he’d passed thousands of times with a hint of irrational betrayal and distrust. He felt like a damn fool for willingly driving into the pit of snake’s den, but there was no other choice. This moment had been brewing unknowingly for years in the making and now it was time to face the music whether he wanted to or not.

The house Jason had come to think of as home stood out in stark contrast compared to the houses beside it, like an ominous spotlight was pointed right at it, making the shadows that ran along front lawn elongated and incredibly severe. Jason’s stomach danced uneasily at the sight; all the lights in the house were off except for the one on the front porch, alerting to Jason rather distressingly that _he_  was home and that he was ready.

A taunting beacon of _come and get me_ if Jason had ever seen one.

As he pulled the car up towards the curb, Jason noticed like a cosmic middle finger _his_ Mazda 6 parked haphazardly in the front lawn, tire tracks eating away at the grass where he had no doubt slammed on the breaks to make the damage all the worse.

God, what the neighbors must’ve thought. There was no doubt he’d done it in the middle of the day, being the drama king he constantly denied he was.

At least Jason admitted he was petty as hell.

 

_Oh, look at that. The gays are having a fight again honey, look but don’t be too obvious about it._

 

Jason hissed a curse under his breath, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Oh, you fucking—I’m gonna murder your dead ass just for that you fucking fuck.” Jason spit as the low purring rumble of the car’s engine died and the headlights dimmed out completely.

He couldn’t help but be legitimately offended by this show of declared war.

Jason had spent the better part of the summer on that front lawn doing back breaking work, trying his best to get rid of those persistent chinch bugs that had his lawn looking like the coat of a Dalmatian puppy, but with dead grass. The Neighborhood Association had just stopped sending them letters on the quality of the grass, and now those pompous fucks would have an absolute _field_ day with this new development and fatten up their wallets too.

He was growing increasingly livid.

Jason resisted the urge to slam the car door in pure frustration as he pondered the best way to enter the house without tipping Dick off since he had the home advantage— _literally_. He slid into the shadows where the bushes were high and easily hid his six foot one frame.

For the umpteenth time, Jason surveyed the weapons he had on him: two semi-automatic pistols holstered to his sides, two knifes, one strapped to his boot and the other high on his thigh, and to top it all off, a motherfucking _grenade_.

It might have been a bit overkill—Jason was willing to admit—but he knew from previous experience that it paid to be paranoid. Anxiety had saved his life enough times to know that it didn’t hurt matters to be the one overly prepared.

He scoped out a path that would cover him the best during night fall and lend him a slight advantage, but right when Jason was about to move, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he jerked to a halt.

It was Louie; the neighbor’s dog from across the street.

Louie was a proud lab that had a penchant for being a mischievous little devil, known fondly by all in this neighborhood. Louie tilted his head curiously at Jason, staring at him with what looked like an annoyed glint in his dark eyes as if to ask: _what are you doing in the bush I regularly sneak out of my house to pee in?_

Louie barked a loud, chipper hello at Jason, tail wagging in excitement at finding another late-night wanderer during his travels.

Jason wanted to _die_.

He gaped at the dog disbelieving before he hung his head in defeat, huffing around the inconvenience of having his location and only advantage immediately flush itself down the metaphorical toilet. Jason raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots as he gave the dog an exasperated, betrayed look.

“Thanks bud, thanks a-fucking-lot,” Jason began. “The day you decide to sneak out and it had to be today—in my yard.”

Louie barked again, totally unapologetic.

 

 _You’re still in my bush and I have about 5 minutes before my human realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be_.

 

Louie’s tail wagged even faster.

Jason made a face.

“Unbelievable.”

He made a show of getting out of the bush, shrubbery catching on his clothes and in his hair, snagging. Jason gestured to the newly unoccupied bush with exaggerated movements, waiting.

“Have at it you utter hellhound,” Jason said, trying to pick up his shattered pride. “I can’t believe this—ousted by a dog who is obsessed with pissing in my abelias. This is going _great_.”

Louie went on to do his thing without a care while Jason regarded the too quiet house looming ominously. He swore he could feel the weight of eyes on him and it made him shift uneasily. Then he got pissed because of how his nerves were already starting to betray him.

With his slight advantage blown out of the proverbial window, Jason squared his shoulders and wondered if he had gone mad as he headed straight for the front door.

With each step, Jason felt his heart pound in the cavity of his chest a little harder; felt the palms of his hands become increasingly damp, and his mind tumbled over itself like waves in a storm as Jason reached for the nob and felt the lock easily give.

Jason released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as he placed the pad of his thumb on the middle of the nob and gave it a curious push. He was livid as the door slowly swung open with no sign of life on the other side. It was highly disheartening.

Fake it ‘till you make it, Jason remembered and forced a grin as he peered into the darkness and he took his first step into the shadowy hallway, slowly easing for the gun holstered on his side.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” Jason shouted tauntingly, snorting sardonically only right after to highlight his point of how fucking amusing all of this was even though no one was laughing.

Nothing but silence greeted Jason back.

He closed the door softly behind him with the heel of his foot, comforted by having something solid at his back as he stepped further inside.

The soles of his boots were quiet on the hardwood floor. It was just about the only thing going for him until Jason approached the dining room and glass cracked loudly like a screeching alarm under the weight of his foot.

He immediately startled, rearing back with a fully body jerk that would’ve impressed his instructors during his training days.

No more than a second later, a loud shot rang out from inside.

It sounded like a blow dart—a silencer on the muzzle of the gun Jason quickly concluded as he cursed and took the appropriate precautions. He plastered his back onto the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible as he raised the gun parallel to his body and waited.

Jason was surprised until he wasn’t, and then he was just fucking pissed.

Boy wasn’t _playing_.

Good.

Jason laughed, gruff and a bit shaky, and his grin stretched to blood thirsty levels. Pure adrenaline pumped hot and vicious inside his veins and the sound of his laughter seemed to echo throughout the entire house, bouncing along the halls and empty corners, the sound pleasantly eerie to his own ears.

“Hello to you too, you bastard,” Jason spit. He re-checked his ammunition on pure habit, clicking the rounds into place. “Real fucking classy what you did out in the front yard, you petty ass bitch.” Jason felt his upper lip lift in a sneer. “I’m gonna shoot you in the dick just for that and, you know—all the other fucked up things, you fucking _liar_.”

The snicker that came out _his_ mouth surprised Jason at how cynical it sounded—how _wrong_.

The noise held little resemblance or familiarity to the man Jason had thought existed and that _hurt_ —the reminder that he’d fallen in love with someone who had never been. This stranger had seen parts of Jason that had been vulnerable and incredibly open, parts that were hard enough to acknowledge to himself, let alone another _person_.

It was an unforgivable offence.

Jason scoffed, “And what, _pray tell_ , is so fucking funny to you?”

There was a pause and even though Jason had tried to prepare for it, the sound of _his_ voice still made Jason’s tremble in that all too familiar way. It was confusing, the duel his body and mind were going through and Jason tried so hard to stomp out the side that he felt was weaker, the one who was holding him back from doing what he needed to do.

Jason felt himself scowl. His heart was traitorous.

As the popular saying went: The heart might want what it wants, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t kill you in the end.

“You still sound the same,” came the breath stopping response. The observation was spoken astute and amused, but interwoven with it was something fragile sounding that Jason didn’t want to look at too closely. The situation had been settled. Jason had made up his mind and he was sticking with it. There wasn’t any room for hesitation or doubt.

“I thought you’d be speaking in a Russian accent since the gig is most _definitely_ up.” He said. “Oh, your employers must _love_ you—such a devoted and dedicated dog. I couldn’t even guess.”

The insult passed right over Jason’s head; he couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. He was still in a shocked daze, like maybe all the information he’d learned over the course of these past couple of days had been some fucked fever dream and he’d wake any moment to tell Adam over breakfast.

 

_“Babe, I had this crazy dream that we were trying to kill each other. You almost shot my head off.”_

_“I kind of want to when you don’t take the laundry out and put it in the drier, so we’re not that far off.”_

 

“Question, are you _really_ even Russian?” He asked. “I just—I’m trying to wrap my head around _that_ one. How I missed something so big.”

How he asked the question…

The inquiry sounded more like a frivolous insult rather than anything he genuinely wanted to know. Jason didn’t know how to respond in the face of it so he acted instead, having always been better communicating with his body rather than with words.

Jason pushed out from behind the wall he had taken cover behind and shot in the general direction the voice had come from. His guns didn’t have silencers on them, so the sound rang out loud and earth-shattering—a nice distraction for all the insistent static buzz inside his head.

An offhanded thought that the neighbors were probably shitting their beds right about now made Jason chuckle.

The dining room was dark, save for the illumination of the street lights outside that shown through the slanted blinds, casting the room in a ghostly, haunting glow. Jason watched as a sleek silhouette rolled smoothly into the adjoining room, bullets chasing after him.

Jason followed him with cautious steps and cursed when didn’t see a familiar figure in the awaiting room.

Richard—who preferred the name _Dick_ of all things—was fast and sneaky. It was a good thing to know, but incredibly inconvenient to catch.

“Also, what’s up with _your_ name?”

Jason startled. The voice behind him was close—too close to be rightly comfortable with when fake fiancée to-not-be had a gun himself. Jason whirled around in a jerky movement, lips parting in shock when he saw Dick standing just a few feet in front of him. His stomach threatened to drop straight out of his ass at the outline of his physique. The details were fuzzy and Jason couldn’t make out Dick’s face to see what kind of expression he wore, but Dick could see _his_.

Jason wondered briefly if Dick had positioned them purposely like this, with the advantage continuously inside his small court. He tried not to bristle like a child, told himself that Dick seeing his face wasn’t a big deal, that he had nothing he needed to hide.

The lights in the backyard cut Jason’s face into hard angles and severe lines. Unknown to Jason, Dick’s breath painfully caught at the first sight of his face since they’d last seen each other in Kiev, and everything had blown up in a hand basket right thereafter.

Jesus Christ, Jason thought, when had he…?

Jason lifted his gun out of pure instinct but before he could shoot, Dick executed a perfect round-house kick that landed hard in the gut, shoving Jason back a few feet, just barely managing to keep his ass from falling on the floor. The two shots rang out hollow and when Jason looked up again, Dick was gone like he’d been nothing more than a violent apparition.

God, that disappearing on the fly shit was getting old fast.

Jason grit his teeth, feeling over his sore gut, cursing under his breath.

“Jason Peter Todd is _literally_ the most un-Russian name I’ve ever heard in my life.” Dick went on. “I was convinced it was fake, that your name would be Gregor or Vladimir, but no—that’s your actual goddamn name.”

Jason scoffed, following the voice again with quiet footsteps.

He turned in the hallway, going deeper into the house towards the kitchen.

He huffed, “That’s rich coming from you, _Dick_.”

The laughter that followed right after was so reminiscent and fond that Jason’s heartbeat thudded for completely different reasons other than adrenaline after being shot and kicked at. He stiffened for a short moment before shaking his shoulders and heavily swallowing his trepidation.

It didn’t matter, Jason told himself repeatedly.

“Ha. Ha. Don’t even start with the penis jokes. I’ve heard them _all_.” Dick said. It sounded like he was distracted with something, which wasn’t good at all. His voice pattern was notably off, subtle in a way that a regular person couldn’t detect, but Jason had years of piecing out tonal cues. Dick was no doubt trying to lull Jason into a false sense of security with the cheery banter.

Jason frowned.

“The point is _beyond_ moot, but I got your point and I’m a bit offended to say the least, _Jason_. My name is _beautiful_.”

The sound of air violently cutting made Jason dodge instinctively and a dull thud of something landing in the wall made him wince. He skeptically eyed the butcher’s knife that had flung by his head and imbedded itself deeply into the wall—which was not unexpected.

What _was_ unexpected was the explosion of heat and fire that came out of nowhere like the big-fucking-bang. The blast threw Jason back, singeing half of his hair as he hit the adjacent wall hard, breath leaving him in a pained rush.

Jason was in a post-blast daze until he saw Dick erupt from the smoke like some goddamn avenging angel, coming at him fast with fury in his fists. Jason bared his teeth in a snarl, faking a punch only to kick out with his right leg and knee Dick hard in the balls.

The sound of Dick wheezing as he collapsed onto his knees was music to Jason’s ears, which were still ringing from the effects of the blast, but nonetheless, it was satisfying as hell to see him doubled over, cowering on his knees in pain.

“Whoops,” Jason apologized condescendingly, smirk petty as he stared down at Dick, haughty and triumphant. “Won’t be using those for a while, will you?”

Dick coughed, then proceeded to breathe through his nose several times before he smiled, closed-lipped and tight, eyes on fire, and the look traitorously made Jason’s cock twitch. It was too reminiscent of how Dick looked during other activities that the reaction was just as automatic as breathing.

The sight of Dick on his knees, looking up at him with those challenging eyes distracted Jason for a foolish moment. He should’ve expected the uppercut to his nuts since Dick was right _there_ at eye level to his crotch, but he _didn’t_ , so the attack was an unpleasant surprise to his manhood—both figuratively and not.

Jason went down hard on one knee, eyes watering because— _fuck, fucking fuck, shit, fucking god did that hurt—_

Dick’s chuckle brought him back and his head snapped up, eyes fierce.

“Thought I’d return the favor,” Dick jeered, incredibly smug and looking too pleased with himself.

Ignoring the pain, Jason shot out, grabbing the collar of Dick’s shirt and lifting him up so he could slam him face first into the nearest wall.

His too-pretty face met a vase instead, which was even better.

It was that ugly one Jason had never liked, the one Adam— _Dick_ had bought at an old antique shop in south Florida during a vacation. Jason cackled with glee until the point of an elbow rudely met his ribs.

With some impressive foot work, Dick managed to get behind Jason. A hand embedded into the thick of his hair, the part that wasn’t singed to hell, and pulled until Jason neck was exposed, making his back bow in a severe arch. Jason expected the sharp edge of a knife to rest against his pounding jugular, so it was a shock when a mouth did instead.

Jason jolted in surprise, body jumping as he tried to ignore how his backside was pressed right up against Dick’s front. He made a confused noise deep inside his throat, trying to break away because he was starting to feel things that had no business here, but Dick, that stubborn bastard, wrapped a muscled arm around his waist keeping him pressed close and tight.

“Keep wiggling like that against me and I’ll start thinking you don’t actually want to kill me,” Dick panted raggedly. “It would be rude to give a guy mix signals like that.” Dick murmured on the sensitive skin of Jason’s neck, breath humid and hot.

It had Jason panting for other reasons, straining desperately to get away, despite how much his body didn’t want too.

He huffed, angling his face so he could see Dick in his peripheral.

“Says the guy practically grinding against my ass, you fucking perv…” Jason began, voice noticeably breathy in quality as saliva had started accumulating inside his mouth. He felt unpermitted words crawling up his throat, ones he tried swallowing down like bile, but still managed to come up like word vomit.

“Is this how you usually take out the competition?” Jason accused. “Was that what you were doing all those times you had “business trips”, you bastard?” Even the thought…the sudden rush of jealously Jason felt was frightening and all-consuming. Jason found his teeth baring, snarling in Dick’s general direction, writhing like a snake in Dick’s hold, trying to reach out and strike.

He was seething. This whole situation had turned him inside out and he was quickly unraveling at the seams.

“Bat your pretty lashes enough to distract them until you could stab them in the back too, huh? Let go of me.” Jason struggled harder, shouting with the effort and Dick grunted as his arms tightened, keeping him thoroughly contained.

Jason was taller and bulkier, but damn if Dick wasn’t strong. It seemed like Dick wasn’t even breaking a sweat either as Jason tried kicking out. _He_ was the one breathing hard, losing energy with every thrash, while Dick kept composed behind him, burrowing his face into Jason’s neck and waiting for him to cool down.

Despite how frustrating it was, Jason could feel himself respond to being held and restrained by this man, how his body became acutely keen to every press of Dick’s body against his own. Growing increasingly distracted by how warm he was and the solid press of his chest against Jason’s back, and _fuck_ —Jason knew he would never stop wanting this man, not by a long shot.

He was utterly, foolishly hopeless.

That’s when the thought came to him, oozing over his conscience like hot tar. It was piercing and heart stopping, and Jason swore he’d destroy everything in his path like a scourge if it turned out to be true.

He didn’t know what he’d do if it turned out to be the truth…

“Are there others?” _Like me_ went unsaid, but the implication was highly present and scornful. “You got a pretty little wife or husband I need to know about, _Dick_?” Jason spit.

Dick chuckled, a breathy huff against the flushed skin of Jason’s neck. The laugh only served to enrage Jason further, making him want to punch Dick square in the face over and over, having a distinct feeling he was being made fun of and not knowing exactly why.

Jason could feel Dick’s lips brushing faintly over his skin before he even asked, “And if I say yes, why does it matter to you? Why do you care, Jason?”

The damning words were out of Jason’s mouth before he could think better of them.

“Because you’re mine!” Jason shouted, felt the truth in those words by how severe his heart was beating against his ribcage, threatening to burst right out.

“Enemy intelligence agencies or not, you were mine the moment I got down on my fucking knee and asked you to marry me. And you were mine the moment you said yes, you motherfucker. There are no takebacks. I don’t give two shits who you are because you’re mine!”

 _God_ …what was he doing?

Jason was fucking everything up with each word spoken. His mouth just…needed to _stop_ , but it wouldn’t. The words kept coming and once he began he couldn’t hope to stop—god knows, he felt better by the end of it.

“If you run, I’ll chase,” Jason declared knowing he would spend the rest of his life running after Richard John Grayson if that’s what it came down to in the end.

He could take Jason on the merriest chase around all the corners of the world, and Jason would go without one complaint. Jason knew that eventually he’d catch up to Dick, and once he did, Jason knew Dick would give into him because it was the only choice that Jason would afford him.

The years that they’d spent together had meant _something_ , he finally realized. Fake or not, they’d fallen in love with each other.

That simple fact was undeniable and both men knew it.

“You could go to—fucking _Antarctica_ and I’d be right on your goddamn heal.” Jason huffed. “When I make promises, I tend to keep them.”

Even saying so, Jason knew that wasn’t the complete truth. He was breaking a very valuable promise _right now_ to his country by admitting such a thing to Dick—already making plans for a future with a man Jason wasn’t supposed to have.

Jason tried his best to ignore the little nagging voice inside his head that was screaming about eventual repercussions; the voice was condescending, whispering things in his ear and outlining in excruciating detail what happened to traitors who’d put themselves and their wants first over their comrades and country.

The simple truth was, if Jason ran, they would never stop running after him.

It was a sobering thought, but not enough to dissuade him.

Dick was quiet behind Jason, standing stark still. He wasn’t breathing.

Until he was.

“You’re so possessive,” Dick began softly, almost as an afterthought. “You’d hunt me down? You would—you’d just…give up…? Why would you even…?” Dick sounded incredibly flabbergasted by Jason’s passionate declaration, shocked even as he trailed off into stunned silence. His perplexity was thick and cloying, questioning everything he’d come to know.

Jason snorted, but the noise sounded weak, like the faintest sharp prick to his skin would deflate him like a balloon.

“You act like you don’t know me at all, man.” Jason joked weakly, and it donned on him only after he’d said it how ironic the statement was.

Neither of them were laughing however.

What Jason was insinuating was preposterous enough for any sane thinking individual, let alone two highly trained secret agents. Logic and rational decision making had been beaten into them from the start. It was against their coding almost to hope for anything different.

“This…” Jason paused for a word, carefully thinking it over. “This _thing_ might’ve been a freak coincidence on our parts, but I—fuck it— _I loved you_. I loved you so fucking much—more than I thought I could ever love _anything_.” Jason took a hitching breath, like he’d just breached the surface of the sea after being deprived air. His heart was galloping where Dick’s palm came to rest over it, no doubt feeling the wildly beating thump.

“I know he wasn’t all you— _I know that_ —but there were parts of _you_ mixed into _him_ and fuck—I just wanna _know_. I wanna know _you_. For real this time, _please_.”

* * *

 

Somehow during, Dick had forgotten how to breathe.

His chest ached from the lack of air, little black spots dancing in the corners of his vision. A signal from his brain frantically told Dick to take that much-needed breath, but his body was lagging, taking too long to respond to such a simple request.

It was too much. Everything all at once like this.

Dick couldn’t seem to keep up.

He grounded himself physically, taking solace in the solid weight of Jason pressed close, fisting a hand around the material of his shirt and pulling it tight.

Jason was—he was fucking _insane_ was what he was.

Dick wanted to ask if Jason had heard himself—if he had _truly_ understood what he was suggesting to Dick and what it meant for the both of them in the long run.

Not that running away with a Russian infiltrator spy didn’t sound appealing—oh it did—the temptation was overwhelming, frighteningly so because having the choice of saying fuck it and taking Jason’s extended olive branch was an exhilarating prospect…but it wasn’t realistic. Not at all.

The true reality of what would happen chipped at Dick’s heart, adding to the jagged and frayed bits already falling to the ground and shattering upon impact.

Dick started to laugh, sound was rough and a touch cruel as he shoved at Jason’s shoulder and spun him around until they were facing each other. Dick pinned Jason to the wall with an arm under his throat, trying to keep some distance between them because even if they didn’t know each other, their bodies most certainly did and Dick felt the proof of that tugging right under his skin.

Dick greedily went to dissect Jason’s expression, disappointed to find that everything was closed off to him. Anger and frustration flared hot then because he’d never been denied such a thing before.

“Do you hear yourself sometimes?” Dick asked, his smile cutting and bitter. “You don’t—you don’t even know me and you’re willing to just—fuck off and go wherever the wind blows? What the—what the actual fuck Dy—Jason? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jason frowned and tilted his head a fraction to the side. He watched Dick for a long moment with another one of those unreadable stares that made Dick shift on his feet uneasily. The urge to hide away from that penetrating gaze was strong. He felt like he was being torn apart.

 _God_ , had he always been so intense?

Suddenly, Dick couldn’t remember.

“You look a little perplexed there dickface,” Jason said, voice comically sardonic. “Don’t think too hard, you might hurt yourself.”

Dick just gaped openly up at Jason, at a loss for words.

“Don’t know why?” Jason asked roughly. “I’ve told you everything I’ve needed to, and yet it’s still not clicking in that hollow head of yours. You’re such a fucking idiot…” Jason murmured, mouth thinning as he flicked Dick hard on the forehead. The sting of the thump was completely numbed when Jason’s face softened with fondness at Dick’s utterly bewildered expression.

This…this was not how things were supposed to work.

Dick was struck dumb, heart beating too heavily, threatening to burst right out of his rib cage and find itself in Jason’s open palm, waiting for him to either nurture or crush it.

“You’re fucking crazy. Utterly fucking crazy if you think I’ll just...” Dick breathed out shakily. He felt his resolve crumbling like flimsy sandstone. His arm dropped to his side, releasing Jason from his pin on the wall and Jason looked amused, but his eyes shown with genuine sadness as he hummed low in agreement.

A looked was shared between them, the meaning communicated without words but wholly understood.

Jason pushed off the wall in the following moment; a whirl of limbs that was too quick for Dick to out-maneuver as their positions reversed. Dick hit the wall with a thump, breath leaving him in the form of a shudder in response to Jason crowding close to his body, lips hovering centimeters right above Dick’s own.

“Just crazy for you,” Jason added, his hot breath fanning in a warm puff over Dick’s lips, making his lashes flutter.

He openly gapped up at Jason.

“Jesus Christ, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Dick whispered with horrified awe, eyes caught on Jason’s lips, almost going cross-eyed because they were so close. “This was like, rule number one in spy school of the things _not_ to do.”

Dick gasped quietly as Jason’s lips finally brushed his—a teasing, coy caress.

A flood of emotions washed over Dick then; want, desire, the need to possess and be possessed. It flared so suddenly and hot inside his gut that Dick was at a loss for words. That didn’t mean he didn’t try. His mouth moved in aborted motions, unable to voice the non-sense that was most likely trying to free itself from the tip of his flax tongue.

“Dick,” Jason said quietly. The sound of his name resonated throughout Dick’s body and put a stop to all his frantic thoughts. Everything became quiet and singular then, like nothing in the world existed outside of the two of them in a false home they’d somehow made theirs.

It was a nice, sobering thought.

“Shut up,” Jason said, cupping Dick’s face and nuzzling against his nose. “This isn’t something you gotta think about. Just be here with me. _Here_ , right now.”

Holding his breath, Jason finally kissed Dick back into breathing.

The touch of their lips was curious and cautious, as if trying to identify if anything had physically changed since figuring out the truth of who they really were to each other.

The kiss was sweet until it simply wasn’t.

Something akin to lighter fluid ignited between them as Jason pressed his body flush to Dick’s own. The feel of Jason was intoxicating and utterly delightful. It had never quite felt like this with another person—mind altering, ardent, like he’d die if Jason stopped touching him.

Jason Peter Todd, who somehow managed to spoon out just enough of Dick so he could replace the empty space with himself.

The bastard.

Dick groaned at how solid and incredibly warm Jason’s body felt against his own. It was enough to make him feel lightheaded with all the blood that was currently leaving his head and re-routing to the growing hardness between his legs. Dick was stiff and only growing harder as Jason grabbed at the underside of his knee and raised it so Dick’s thigh rested on the crook of Jason’s hip.

“Are you going to get me naked, or is getting off in your pants the best you can do?” Dick asked, sounding breathless and impatient. His taunting was completely transparent, but Jason still fell for it anyways.

Dick huffed a laugh at the affronted sound that came out of Jason’s mouth. He even looked mildly offended by the insinuation against his prowess.

He dropped Dick’s leg like deadweight and began pulling Dick’s dress shirt out from his pressed pants, tearing at the material until the buttons popped and Dick was left weak in the knees at the petty show of Jason’s strength.

Breaking out of his aroused daze, Dick started working quickly on Jason’s belt. His normally agile fingers fumbled at the buckle once, twice before he finally figured the combination out. Jason kissing at his ear and the sound of his deep laughter hadn’t helped matters either, just managed to make Dick feel like he was fifteen all over again, popping his cherry in the shed behind his parent’s house during the summer before sophomore year.

“Nervous?” Jason whispered teasingly as he pushed Dick’s dress shirt down over the flare of his broad shoulders, making Dick arch into him with a bite to his bottom lip.

Everything about Jason sounded like sin and it was doing insane things to Dick’s body.

Dick huffed a laugh, slightly forced to hide just how affected he was by this man. He managed to work Jason’s belt from the loops of his jeans, tugging until the article of clothing snapped free with a loud crack.

“Are you just choosing to forget that we’ve done this before or…?” Dick retorted raggedly, working Jason’s jeans down his thighs with eager tugs and purposely brushed against his cock, needing the reassurance that Jason was just as wanton as he was.

Being a smartass aside, nervous was exactly what Dick was.

While being with Jason technically wasn’t anything new, the circumstance of their reunion and knowing who they really were made everything feel like the first time all over again. Dick was opening himself up in a new way; it was far more intimate and personal than just stripping down and sharing his body with some person he’d happened on the off chance to meet.

Dick’s hands rose and caressed the scars on Jason’s chest he hadn’t thought that much of. Dylan and Jason both shared reckless qualities; it was easy enough to write them away without looking too deep into the reason why. Dick had realized how lost in his thoughts he’d gotten as Jason cupped his cheek and tilted his head up so they could look each other in the eye.

“I’m not forgetting,” Jason murmured thoughtfully, “but I’ve never made love to the man standing in front of me.”

A stunted sound came out of Dick’s mouth that sounded both disbelieving and awed. He tried to play it off with a laugh, but instead the sound came out shaky and weak.

“Making love?” Dick questioned wearily, peering into the clear, unmottled depths of Jason’s eyes, purposely an open book for Dick to read and see Jason’s uncensored heart bared before him.

At that moment, Dick wildly thought: _who is this man? I don’t know him like I thought I did. Not even a little bit._ He saw a stranger who felt nothing like the sort.

“Fuck,” Dick breathed, “are you always like this? Corny and embarrassingly sentimental? Do I need to prepare myself for this every day when I’m with you?” Dick joked, smiling softly at Jason.

For some reason, he felt oddly shy.

Jason huffed as if he was offended, but he couldn’t help the giddy laugh that blessed Dick's ears. He looked around his age, Jason did, with his small put-upon pout that tried masking the boyish, crooked smile that wanted to break through.

Their eyes held for a long, pregnant pause and the energy surrounding them distinctly transformed. The space between buzzed low like the undercurrent of an electric livewire and he was conscious of his body in relation to how close Jason was from brushing against it.

Dick’s pupils dilated as he breathed out shakily, almost certain he’d catch fire.

Jason stepped into Dick’s space without hesitation, slamming him back against the wall with his solid chest. With their bodies pressed so close, Dick moaned, loving the sensation of being surrounded by Jason, almost overwhelmed by his smell and touch. His arms wrapped around Jason’s waist, spreading his fingers as he felt over the muscles in Jason’s back, nails dragging slowly over skin.

 “I was trying to be _romantic,_ asshole, you know, since we’re having a moment an’ all—but okay, fine, you don’t like that flowery shit,” Jason teased. “ _Thank god_. I’ve never been good at poetry anyways.”

Jason hummed then, the sound low with consideration. He nudged the tip of his nose against Dick’s playfully, their lips a hair’s breadth apart and wanting, breathing hot and humid over each other’s parted mouths in puffs that sent shivers down Dick’s spine.

Jason bit his own lip, teeth moving over the skin in a slow drag.

“If I’m being honest,” Jason began on an enticing whisper, eyes dark. “I wanna fuck you ‘til you can’t catch your breath. Just abuse that sweet spot of yours— _exploit_ it—get you all nice and wet then fuck you ‘til you can’t think of anything other than me loving you to bloody pieces.”

Dick gasped, his whole body shaking.

“ _Fuck_ , Jason—”

“I want so much of you that it drives me crazy. There will never be enough…” Jason murmured, mouth forming words on Dick’s lips, resembling a kiss.

Rising the few scant inches that separated them, Dick pressed his mouth against Jason’s and kissed him breathless; their mouths met hard and bruising, teeth clacking until Jason angled his head and the kiss morphed into something sleek rather than battering.  

Dick rocked his hips against Jason’s, groaning into his mouth when he felt the accompanying bulge press against his own hardness. They built up a rhythm that flared hot like water on an electrical fire, spilling copious amounts between them. Dick wondered why they were still clad in their boxer briefs. His underwear had soaked through the front, sticking to his skin and chaffing unpleasantly. Dick tugged impatiently at both his and Jason’s boxer briefs until it was easy enough to shimmy the fabric down his legs and kick them off towards the side in a hurry.

The sensation of their cocks slotting together made them both hiss as Dick ground their hips together, thrusting in powerfully slow motions that made his head spin. It was a surprise when Dick found himself hauled up into Jason’s arms; the pads of Jason’s fingers digging into meat of Dick’s thighs as he walked them back into the wrecked aftermath of their slightly singed kitchen without so much as a laborious grunt.

The show of strength made Dick’s desire flare red-hot, appreciating being carried and handled like he weighed nothing at all. It made something inside him sing.

He kissed and bit possessively at the underside of Jason’s jaw, panting raggedly against his skin as his hands roamed everywhere he could reach; down his muscled back, across the broadness of his shoulders, around his sides.

“ _Do it_ ,” Dick rasped, dazed with the strength of his want. “Fuck me. Need you in me.”

Jason cursed harshly under his breath, squeezing at Dick as if his body would lend him inner strength and control, when it should’ve done the very opposite.

“God,” Jason groaned, mouthing wetly at Dick’s ear. “I could fuck you dry.” His fingers moved in-between Dick’s cheeks, teasing at his hole with burning fingers.

Arching into the touch, Dick writhed against the pressure. He felt impossibly empty and cold; needed something inside of him to ease ache that throbbed throughout his entire body, yearning for Jason to fill it.

“I’d let you,” Dick answered breathlessly, just so he could hear the heavy, throaty moan it pulled deep from Jason’s chest a moment later.

“ _Fuck_ —you’re dangerous,” Jason whispered, almost sounding awed. “God, you would’ve absolutely ruined me as a kid. I would’ve done anything for this—for _you_.” They continued kissing, feeding each other their breathy, sweet sounds, getting drunk off one another.

Jason placed Dick onto the counter, looking pained to do so as he stepped away from the warmth of Dick’s awaiting body. His gaze flickered impatiently over every inch of the ransacked kitchen, searching for something that, for the life of him, Dick couldn’t see the importance of when Jason’s body was so far away from his own and he was needing him so badly.

Jason must’ve seen Dick’s inner dilemma. He smirked, smug.

“You’re not taking me dry,” Jason declared like it was obvious. There was no room for argument in his tone. “I’d tear you in half.” Jason was attractively cocksure as he said this, devilish gleam in his eye as he gave Dick a wink before turning away and picking though the mess of the kitchen with his familiar kind of impatience.

Dick’s brow arched in question. “I don’t…? Are you honestly hungry at a time like this?”

Jason snorted and flipped Dick off over the curve of his shoulder. “Fuck you, asshole. I’m trying to find the olive oil so I don’t rip your ass apart, idiot.”

“Oh,” Dick breathed, then laughed, laughed like he hadn’t in a long while. He leaned back onto the island counter, spreading his legs invitingly as his mirth gradually died down.

“Is your tongue not good enough?” Dick teased, licking over his lips.

Jason stilled before he slowly turned to Dick, eyes dark and full of promise, but he shook his head.

“Mm, you know I take my time with that shit, and you need to get fucked quick and in a hurry, remember?”

There was no argument there.

Dick hopped down from the counter and joined the search for the illusive olive oil, unable to keep from looking at Jason every few seconds out of the corner of his eye. He eventually found the bottle in the small space between the oven and the counter top, hiding in plain sight. Dick snickered as he tossed the bottle to Jason who caught it with a lightening quick snap of his hand. The grin that followed was filthy and Dick pivoted on his heel, making a show of bracing his elbows against the kitchen counter top and spreading his legs, presenting his ass in a way he knew drove those boys crazy.

Tossing back the fringe of hair, Dick looked demure over the curve of his shoulder, running his gaze over Jason’s body. His eyes followed that trail of dark hair down his navel, lingering wantonly at Jason’s hard cock, flushed and nestled in those short wiry hairs at the base.

An all-encompassing ache settled deep in Dick’s belly, seeping hot throughout his entire body. Dick arched his back, moaning softly when the intimate weight of Jason’s chest slid against his back, pushing him down onto the counter with his heavier weight and purposely keeping him in place.

Dick cursed, gripping at the counter’s edge.

Oh, he’d missed this so much.

Jason smelled like cloves and smoke; his body radiated heat, shielding Dick from the cold. Dick angled his head back, searching for Jason’s lips as he feverishly kissed down Jason’s cheek, groaning into his mouth when Jason’s tongue feathered along his upper lip. Dick’s hand fisted in Jason’s short hair, pulling him closer and kissing him with an urgency that stole his breath. He jerked in anticipation when the pads of Jason’s fingers brushed against his hole, slippery and scorching, rubbing back and forth, creating that mind-numbing friction that had Dick rocking back with eager movements, needing something inside.

“You need it bad, don’t you?” Jason whispered against his mouth. His fingers screwed into Dick’s ass, not quite breaching like how Dick desperately wanted, just applying enough pressure to have his lashes fluttering wildly.

Dick swallowed hard.

“I thought we already established that.”

Jason hummed, low and amused. He nosed down Dick’s neck, pressing biting kisses along the raised tendons that trembled because of his touch. Dick could feel the sharpness of his grin like the edge of a blade. The hunger in it almost tangible.

“Humor me, baby. Tell me you want it.”

The pet name shot through Dick like a rocket, making him bite his bottom lip to stifle the sound that wanted to slip through. He was fond of the pet name in a way that he’d never been before with other lovers; names like sweetheart or pumpkin seemed a bit much, leaving his mouth with a bitter taste, but Dick would always be Jason’s _baby_.

“I want it,” Dick breathed out on a rush, lips caressing the words on the underside of Jason’s jaw as he tilted his head. “Hurry up and fuck me. I need it—need _you_.”

Jason groaned against Dick’s lips as he met that silent demand, kissing Dick gently, tongue brushing sultry along Dick’s own before he broke the kiss with one departing peck.

“God, you’re so sweet for me. You know exactly what you do, don’t you?”

Dick huffed a laugh, charmed and flattered by Jason’s praise and awe as he kissed down Dick’s back, over the raised knobs of his spine. His fingers carefully pressed inside, proficient and familiar enough with the act to slip right inside without a great amount of discomfort. Either way, Dick accept the intrusion graciously, pushing his ass back with a low, pleased sound.

“You act as if it isn’t the same, like I’m not just as desperate to have your cock in me.” Dick murmured.

He moaned as two of Jason’s fingers teased at his prostate; a brief brushing press before he skillfully continued loosening up Dick’s hole. He was rocking back eagerly now, breath hitching with each pushing twist of Jason’s fingers pivoting vigorously inside of him. He keened, wanting something bigger.

“C’mon, put your money where your mouth is and give it to me good.”

Jason chuckled in amusement, but otherwise listened to Dick after a few more probing twists. Jason pulled his fingers out and Dick heard the distinct sound of wet skin being worked over by a stroking hand. He turned his head and watched Jason prepare his cock, getting it wet enough before he lined up and started rubbing his cockhead back and forth over Dick’s twitching hole. The teasing was cruel for Dick who arched back and tried to impale himself but to no avail. Jason’s accompany laugh was breathy and low as he palmed indulgently at Dick’s plush ass, admiring how it overflowed from the spaces of his fingers.

“Oh, I’m gonna give it to you…” Jason promised. He began pushing in; a gradual press that made Dick feel every inch of that thick length. He was gasping, cursing, reaching back to snare a fist into the thick of Jason’s hair to anchor himself to something solid, lest he float away.

Carefully, Jason rocked his hips forward, settling deeper inside Dick’s body, making a space for himself that Dick would hold as forever Jason’s to claim. Dick parted his lips on a silent cry that escaped in tandem with Jason’s husky moan. Jason was patient and attentive, waiting for Dick’s muscles to relax enough to give without the slightest resistance.

Dick shuttered all over.

“Oh god,” Dick groaned, sliding his fingers along the smooth surface of the counter. “ _Jason_.”

Jason glided his fingers reverently along Dick’s sides as he slid forward. His fingers mapped the ripple of defined muscles that were fluid like water and Dick tightened his grip on Jason’s hair, wanting him impossibly closer. Jason retracted his hips, leaving Dick feeling empty and incomplete before he repeated the gentle adjustment. It was sweet and slow and maybe if he’d been in another mood, Dick would have loved how Jason was taking his time with opening him up and making sure he was comfortable, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Mmm, I thought you were gonna give it to me—make me feel it.” Dick taunted. He briefly squeezed his inner muscles around Jason’s cock, laughing when Jason gave a groan that sounded like he had the very air punched out of his lungs.

He counted on the fact that Jason was only human and that, with enough prompting, his restraint would crumble into pieces around their feet. With his dues paid, Jason’s hands retreated to the flare of Dick’s hips, gripping him firmly as he shifted his feet and widened his stance, getting prepared for pounding he was about to give.

Dick bit his bottom lip in anticipation as Jason pulled out before slamming back in, hips quickly finding a rising tempo that only continued to mount. Dick cried out, closing his eyes as Jason took him apart. Condensation formed between the cool counter and his body that felt like it was melting from the inside out, allowing him to slide easily along the counter top as he was stretched widely again and again.

Jason’s thrusts knocked out hard, pleading gasps from Dick’s mouth as he strangled out Jason’s name. He met each pounding thrust enthusiastically, pushing his ass up so Jason would continuously hit that spot that made his toes curl.

“Jason— _mn_ , fuck…”

Jason panted raggedly behind him as the flat of his hand traced the arch of Dick’s spine before his fingers snagged in Dick’s hair, pulling him back by the roots with a rough tug.

“Oh god, _yesss_ ,” Dick hissed, loving Jason’s possessive touch. He found himself immediately responding to it; teeth baring animalistic, clawing at Jason’s scalp as he made depraved noises that didn’t seem recognizable to his own ears.

“C’mon, talk to me,” Jason husked, darkly coaxing along the shell of Dick’s ear, tongue feathering, filthy, along his lobe before his teeth sunk in and pulled with a low growl. “Boss me around,” Jason encouraged, slapping Dick’s ass indulgently. He groaned, pleased when Dick jerked, rising on his toes silently asking for more. “ _Mm_ , tell me how good that cock feels, baby.”

Dick hesitated only momentarily and then yielded with a throaty, “ _Harder_.”

“Can you even handle it?” Jason asked, leering, but he was already accommodating his pace.

“ _God_ —harder, Jason. Fuck me harder.”

Jason’s jerking hips became relentless, slamming against Dick’s ass almost punishingly, watching the flesh ripple in a wave of movement that inspired him to slap one of Dick’s cheeks again. The small of Dick’s back accumulated in a sheen of sweat, and he jolted with a cry as Jason found that tender patch inside him. Jason purred with satisfaction as Dick practically flew out of his skin, placing his hands on the counter top, grabbing for leverage. He began to grind, building friction against that spot until Dick’s sounds of pleasure transformed into noises he couldn’t control, sounds Jason pulled out of him that were nothing but honest.

“God, it’s so good,” Dick sobbed. “Love how you fuck me— _love you_.”

Dick finished first with Jason’s hand jerking his cock, whispering filthy encouragement that Dick was completely weak to as he busted over the top of Jason’s fist. His legs threatened to buckle as his body locked up and he entered a euphoric state that took his very breath. Jason came moments afterwards with a hoarse shout that he silenced with Dick’s shoulder, flooding his insides with a wet, milky warmth.

Dick whimpered his gratitude, nuzzling back into Jason’s body and weakly arching his head up for a kiss that Jason met with utter adoration and tenderness, stealing Dick’s heart all over again. They kissed like it was the first time, slowly, with exploring licks and nips, mouths practically melting together as their hands unhurriedly caressed any part of the other they could reach.

With one last lingering kiss, Jason broke their connection. He carded his hand through Dick’s hair, pushing the damp strands back so he could have a clear view of his eyes. Dick was so completely taken with him that it must have shown.

Jason smirked fondly. “You with me, lover boy?”

Dick swallowed. “Always.”

For most his life, Dick had sacrificed one thing or another. He did these things because they were expected of him or because he was selfless enough to put someone else's needs above his own, but he wouldn’t sacrifice Jason. He wouldn’t sacrifice this feeling for the world. He finally understood why people went so crazy when they were in love—why they were always so desperate to keep and preserve that feeling.

He hadn’t completely understood, not even when he’d believed Jason to be Dylan. There was fondness of course, but it was overshadowed with the knowledge he could never share his complete self with the man.

The truth was no one could make him feel the way Jason did, and he was going to keep him, damn the consequences.


End file.
